Dangerous Affairs
by aznduddet
Summary: PREVIOUSLY TITLED: LOVELY LAWYER. Harley: the uptight lawyer. Eric: the laid-back realtor. They encounter each other by chance, or is it really by chance? Something isn't right. People are disappearing. Is Harley next on the list? Eric/OC lemon/lang.
1. The Irish Pub

"To Harley!" they clamored, shots of Grey Goose raised proudly in the air of the stifling Irish Pub. The celebratory heathens threw back their heads and swallowed the scorching liquid with fervor before hooting and hollering with joy, while I shook my head vigorously from Goose, completely detesting the taste and regretting that I ever allowed my foolish friends to convince me to take a shot of the powerful liquid.

"I still don't understand," Isabell Montez started after clearing her throat, "We are celebrating the conviction of that fucking bastard Lawrence Tanner, the most disgusting child exploitationer known to man kind, not to mention," she attempted to rest her elbow on the sturdy table; however, she failed miserably when it came short and caused her entire right side to go slack, "he was a fucking human trafficer, and you aren't drinking. Now what the fuck is wrong with this picture?"

"You're drinking enough for both of us Isabell." I laughed in response, patting her hand that rested on the table.

"Seriously," Marcus Christophe added, "you just won the biggest case of your career and you've been sipping on sweet tea and just now decided to have a shot of Goose with us. You should be chugging down the fucking bar!" he laughed.

"I do not need to get completely shit-faced, as all of you are now, to celebrate." I laughed back, "It's because of your three bastards that I don't drink. One of us has to be sober."

"Thazzzz nah true," Porscha Eckert slurred, swaying her glass of vodka mixed with pineapple juice left and right, "You need to loosin' up Har, who gives a fuuuuuuucck about being sober?" her voice squeaked at the end. Porscha brought her hand down on my shoulder with a surprising amount of force, which made me cringe from her unconscious use of power. "Youuuuu just gotta relaxxxxx, ya know, put a lil limp in ya step, do some crazy shit, dance on the bar. SOMETHING!" Porscha threw her hands up in the air, causing her drink to fly over the booth to an empty booth the next one over. She crashed against the side of the booth, slamming her empty glass on the table and looking at it as if an elephant were inside.

"She's right thought," Isabell said abruptly sober, "You just won this case, it's been all over the news, everywhere Har. And your acting like it's nothing. Do you have any idea how many law firms are going to want you now?" the table became horribly quiet; however, the pub remained loud and active. I ran my fingers around the rim of my straw and shrugged.

"Yeah I know, but that doesn't matter. All that matters is that Lawrence Tanner is never going to touch another child again. . .aaaand for the next sixty years to life, Lawrence Tanner is going to be someones bitch." I grinned.

"I can definitely drink to that." Marcus said, raising another shot glass of what appeared to be whiskey and throwing it back with ease. I raised my glass to him and drank some of my tea. The three of us looked over at Porscha who was now completely incapacitated and was starting to drool I little on the corner of her mouth. Gahhhhh, it was disgusting.

"Har," Isabell called.

"Hmm?" Isabell looked at me then looked to the far right corner of the room at the bar. I looked in that direction but didn't see anything. I stared at Isabell expectantly and waited for some kind of explanation; however, Isabell continuously jutted her head in the direction of the bar with a smirk. I looked in the direction again, more closely this time, but still could not find anything. "What is it Isabell? Is there a unicorn over there that I'm completely blinded from?"

"Do you see that blonde guy looking very indiscreetly at you?" she asked in a very low whisper as if everyone could hear us. I looked one last time and finally saw him, I was surprised that I had even missed him in the first place. Something stirred in my stomach. "So now you see him." Isabell inquired. "He's been staring nonstop for the past fifteen minutes."

"No he hasn't." I turned back around and adjusted my shirt.

"Let me rephrase: he has been staring nonstop at YOU for the past fifteen minutes." Isabell grinned. Marcus craned his head this way and that so that he could see who Isabell was talking about, but to no avail.

"You know I really hate it when you say stuff like that. It's so unbecoming." I said, somewhat annoyed that Isabell would just assume that the stranger had been staring at me. She always made obscene assumptions, that's why she had such a low conviction rate and would probably never have a chance of becoming D.A..

"Do you have a complex or something?" Marcus asked suddenly, leaning over the table so that he was in my plane of sight.

"Complex?"

"Don't act like you didn't hear me. You know very well that guy has been staring at you ever since he came in . . ." he paused and looked at his watch, "thirty-seven minutes ago."

"It was forty-three minutes ago, and so what if I've been somewhat aware of his intense stare. I have no intention of approaching him." I crossed my arms over my chest to accentuate my point of staying put. "Have you been watching him this entire time?" I asked. Marcus shrugged and took another shot of whiskey.

"I think she does have a complex." Isabell whispered to Marcus as if I wasn't there, who nodded in shame for his friend.

"I do not have a complex." I said sternly.

"Then why haven't we seen you with a man, or talking on the phone all day, or blowing up your phone with texts?" Isabell shot back.

"You're not lesbian are you?" Marcus burst out abruptly. Heads turned from the bar, their curious and pestering eyes geared towards our table.

"No I am not lesbian you fucking prick." I hissed at my supposed best friend, who wasn't acting like much of a best friend, but more so a Grade A asshole.

"Then what's the fucking problem, you must know that . . ." Marcus gave me a quick once over and shivered slightly, which caused my lip to quiver into a snarl, " . . .that you're you. And that guys are interested; obviously." he gestured to the stranger.

"I'm to busy," I replied, which was answered with groan and moans of disapproval and disbelief as I told them the same reason as I told them every other day. "I'm to busy, I don't have time for men." they scuffed at my answer and started to completely ignore me. "You don't get an 85 percent conviction rate by sleeping with the entire legal body; I worked hard to get where I am, and I'm not going to let some broke down-no good-unsuccessful-pompous-bastard looking for a one night stand turn all that I've done into a pile of shit."

"Are you done now?" Isabell asked, "because Mr. Broke down-no good-unsuccessful-pompous-bastard-looking for a one night stand is coming over."

"What?" I yelled, far more loudly then I should have, and looked over my shoulder to see Mr. Stranger sauntering right over with a Pina Colada in one hand and a Corona in the other.

* * *

><p>My head was throbbing, my body was sore, the sun was blinding my eyes, and an uncontrollable ringing was exploding my ears. Ringing? Ringing? What was ringing? I fought to open my eyes, putting my hand a few inches from my face to block out the sun, and slowly began to sit up on my elbows. My head rolled in circles uncontrollably a I sat up completely, eyes slit open just enough to see my windows, hair going every direction possible. What happened the other night? I grabbed the alarm clock from the nightstand, finding the source of the ringing, and turned it off with a slap, before looking at the time through my slit eyes.<p>

"FUCK!" I was never one to jump on a bed or to jump in general, I didn't like how it made various parts of my body bounce and attracted unwanted attention; however, on that morning, I jumped out of bed with fear and adrenaline as a child would running late to school remembering he had a big calculus test. For a moment I was frantic, completely irratic. I fidgeted on the side of my bed not sure of what to do first. It was already twelve, I had to take a shower, brush my teeth, do my hair, iron my clothes, collect all of my paperwork, eat, among countless other things I typically did in the morning before I headed to the office. However, all of that went out the window when I heard a groan and to my horror, saw something moving in my bed. I froze. I watched it, waiting for some massive beast to emerge from the depths of the blankets, for it to pounce, or slither off the side of the bed and disappear, only to leave me paranoid and delusional. To my dread, it was not a beast or a legless thing . . .it was a man. He rubbed his eyes vigorously and stretched his limbs, making a few pops and cracks here and there, before sitting up and looking at me. I was overwhelmed to say the least, and when I am overwhelmed I tend to do something that gets me into a lot of trouble, depending on where I am.

I screamed.

"Who are you!" my voice filled the entire apartment as my fear took over, "What are you doing in my house? Why are you here?"

"Stop yelling!" the man yelled back, covering his ears like a child.

"This is my house! What are you doing in my house! I'm calling the police!" I ran to the nightstand for my phone, but, to my luck, it was not there where I usually put it. "Where's my phone?" I pushed around the alarm clock, the lamp, the papers, an empty cup, but there was nothing. "Where the fuck is my phone!" I thrust the drawers open and shuffled through everything, I was on the verge of tears from my frustration, from the entire situation. "Where is it?" from the corner of my eye I saw the man push over the blankets and get up. I went into overdrive.

"Stay there!" I screamed. He froze, almost in a running man position, and looked around with the most confused expression. He made an effort to move again, "Stop! Don't move. I swear on my fathers grave I'll hurt you!" I grabbed the closest thing to me, which at the time was the lamp, I jerked it from the outlet and gripped it tightly in front of me.

"Hang on now, calm down." he put his arms out in front of him in defense and pointed at the lamp, "Put. The lamp. Down." his voice was stern.

"No. Who are you? What are you doing here? Why are you in my house?" then I realized something much much much worse. "Why are you naked?" the man looked down at himself as if he didn't even know, which caused me to look down at myself. Oh. My. God. "Why am I naked!" I screamed. "What did you do to me?" I threw the lamp at him and dove for the blankets, grabbing all of it and wrapping it around me every which way possible. "I've been raped! I've been raped! Somebody help! Help me! Somebody!" It wasn't until that day that I knew just how high my voice could go.

"Stop screaming I raped you! I didn't rape you!"

"Fuck you! Fuck you! I'm calling the police!" I ran across the floor, which just seemed to be scuttling since I could hardly move my feet because of the blanket, and went for my house phone in the living room. I grabbed the phone and struggled to get my hands out of the blanket enough so I could dial the numbers; however, it was snatched from me and thrown across the room, and me, poor defenseless Harley, was pinned against the end table in, what felt like, a two thousand pound blanket, by a naked man.

"No! No! No! Get away from me! Help me! Somebody help me! Arhhhhhhhh!"

"Stop doing that!" he gave me a violent shake, "I didn't do anything to you! I didn't rape you, you invited me here!" his face was furious with rage, almost watermelon pink, his jaw was tight, his eyes ablaze, his nostrils flaring.

"What?" now that was to much, "I would never invite a man to my house. Get off of me! Let me go!" I struggled against him; however, his powerful grip on my wrists kept me in place.

"You invited me last night, we met at the Irish Pub, you were with Marcus, Isabell, and some other chick, we talked and drank and then you invited me over."

"What are you talking about?" I finally stopped, I was still tense, but I stopped. "Why would I do that? I never do shit like that?

"Well you did last night." he shot back. He took a moment to calm himself and released my wrists. "I'm Eric Northman. I didn't rape you, assault you, or bring any harm to you whatsoever. So will you please calm down?"

"Then what are you doing here?" I stepped to him, my eyes narrowed. The faintest grin crawled on his lips that surprised/scared me. What was he grinning for?

"Isn't it obvious?" Eric gestured to himself, his naked body specifically, then looked at me. I froze . . .again. I was naked too.

"No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! Fuck no! We did not have sex! We didn't!" I screamed at him.

"Uhhhh . . .yeah, we did. And from what I recall you enjoyed it . . .a lot." his grin grew.

"No we did not have sex," I groaned in frustration, tears starting to build in my eyes, "I don't have sex with random guys." my behavior could be best compared to a three-year-old temper tantrum. My face was turning red, tears were forming, I was stomping my feet and shaking my shoulders, I was groaning and whining like a child that didn't get the Christmas present she wanted, in other words, I was not handling the situation very well at all. And as a result, it began to show signs of amnesia: "Who are you? What are you doing in my house? Why are you here?"

Eric looked at me with the same confused expression. "I just told you."

"I know you just told me! But why are you still here? In my house? You should be gone! You're not supposed to be here when I wake up! That's how one night stands work!" he was an idiot. It was my first one night stand but even I knew that.

"Well I don't do this very much." Eric said, scratching the back of his head.

"Why are you still naked? Put some clothes on, or something!" I ran back into the bedroom and scoured my closet for clothes, anything that I could put on fast. "Why did it have to be today of all days? Why couldn't it be tomorrow, or next week? I just had to get up late today."

"Do you have something important today?" Eric asked, putting on a pair of blue boxers with silver stripes.

"That is none of your business." I found a black pencil skirt that had been dry cleaned a few weeks ago with a white blazer with two medium black buttons in the middle. I grabbed matching black panties and a bra and I ran into the bathroom, dropped the blanket on the floor, and put my clothes on as fast as I could. I brushed my teeth with the speed of superman, splashed some water on my face before drying it off with a towel, and put my hair back in a tight ponytail. When I entered my room again Eric was still there, this time fully dressed; however, I didn't waste a second trying to entertain him. I grabbed my briefcase off the dining table and made sure all of the proper paperwork from my last trial was in it and set it by the door. "Now where's my phone?" I went to my bed and checked my nightstand again, to no avail, then, to my wonderful happieness, kneeled carefully, picking up the hem of my skirt so no dirt could get on it, and found my wonderful white Blackberry Torch under my bed. Oh the sheer pleasure one feels in time of pure agony from the smallest things. "Thank God I found it." I smiled and checked my missed alerts. "Seventeen missed calls? Shit!"

The rest was a blur. I grabbed my suitcase, put my black heels on, and ran out the door, yelling something like "You better not be here when I get back!" to Eric Northman who was still in my bedroom, doing nothing . . .I think.

* * *

><p>"What the hell happened to you this morning?" Isabell grabbed me by the elbow and dragged me into her office, closing the door and locking it, shutting the blinds so that no one could peak in.<p>

"I don't know." I set my briefcase on her desk, I still had not gotten over the entire event that just occurred in my bedroom and was somewhat irrational and emotionally distraught. "I woke up and this guy was in my bed,"

"A guy?" she turned around after closing the blinds, "The guy from last night? Eric?" she said with far more enthusiasm then I felt was appropriate.

"Yes him." I groaned and threw my hands up in the air. "I don't know what happened. I didn't hear my alarm go off, the next thing I know some thing is moving in my bed and his head pops out. How could this happen Isabell? I never do stuff like this, ever."

"Well you can blame our good friend tequila for that." she smiled.

"I'm serious Isabell. I just slept with a guy, supposedly -"

"You slept with him!" she yelled, the entire office went freakishly quiet behind the locked door at my friends inability to contain her excitement. I didn't even understand why she was excited. Typically women scolded their friends for having one night stands and called them whores and sluts, but not Isabell; definitely not Isabell. Instead she was enthusiastic and wanted me to continue with this guy. It wasn't until that moment that I realized just how much of a sex-crazed freak my friend really was. "You slept with him?" she asked again, this time in a whisper.

"Supposedly." I replied sternly, "What am I supposed to think? I wake up and find a man, a naked man, sleeping next to me, having no recollection of anything the night before, so I automatically assume, like any normal woman," she rolled her eyes at my words, "that he broke into my house and raped me. Is that so hard to believe?"

"Except he didn't rape you," Isabell grinned, "you had sex with him willingly. Therefore, no rape occurred; see? Case closed. On to the next one."

"You don't know that, I don't know that, he probably doesn't even know that." I shook my head, hoping that it would clear away some of the stress I felt, "I feel dirty and disgusting, Isabell. Like he's all over me. I couldn't even take a shower this morning to get his horrible putrefying scent off of me." I accented my point by making her smell my hair, which smelt like rotten eggs and some cheap cologne.

"Mmmm," she moaned, " I would love to have that scent rubbed all over me every which way possible. It actually kinda reminds of the new Ax cologne that came out not to long ago. Do you think he uses that?"

"Oh shut-up." I pushed off from the desk and went to the window, peeking through the blinds towards the main office with all the cubicles. "I'm trying to tell you how horrifying my day has been so far and all you can think about is having Mr. Northman rub himself all over."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Isabell!" I was becoming very annoyed now.

"Alright, alright," she crossed her arms over her chest and sat down on her desk. "You shouldn't worry about it so much. You had sex with the guy, big whoop. That doesn't mean your entire world will come crashing down."

"You don't understand. This isn't about the sex."

"Then what have we been talking about for the past ten minutes?" she shot back.

"This is about my image. I just won the biggest case of the year, my face is plastered on to every screen, every newspaper, ever web page. People have been watching my every move for the past seven months. If the media finds out about this my career could go down the toilet, just like that. My reputation would no longer be 'Ms. Harley Jacobs, Henderson and Marker Lawyer Firms Best, but Ms. Harley Jacobs, The Whore That Slept With The Jury', trying saying that five times fast."

"You really are too much sometimes." Isabell smiled. "Nothing like that is going to happen. Anyways, people have already moved on to other cases and whatnot. So don't worry about it. Besides, you think to much."

"It's a part of my job you arrogant bitch." I smiled back.

"If you say so, but honestly this is nothing to worry about. By the time you get home he will be gone and that's it; life goes on. So get over it already." Isabell unlocked the door and opened the shutters again. "Now get the fuck out of here so I can work." I slapped her on the arm before leaving and headed to my office, only to be welcomed by a stack of massive papers. Just as I sat down at my desk and started opening the files, I heard a knock at the door.

"Are you just now getting in?" Marcus asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"Shut-up."

"You know we missed you at the briefing."

"I know I missed it. You don't have to rub it in my face." I asked.

"Well lookie-here, little miss perfect isn't so perfect." he was grinning from ear to ear.

"Fuck off Marcus. I really don't need this." I snarled.

"Easy pussy cat. I just came to give you a little something." Marcus pulled out a file from behind his back and slapped it on my desk.

"What's this?" I gestured to the file.

"Your new case." he smiled before turning around and heading out the door, "By the way, Marker wants to see you in his office." he slammed the door behind him deliberately which made me want to throw my nameplate at the cheeky bastard.

"This is unacceptable." Mr. Marker, the co-owner of Henderson and Marker Law Firm, said, looking outside his office window to the view of downtown L.A., "I would expect this from anyone else here. But you Harley?"

"I'm sorry Mr. Marker."

"Has your victory with the Tanner case gone to your head?"

"Of course not, Mr. Marker." I felt like a child that was being chewed out by her father, who she hated disappointing. He didn't respond. "I have no excuse for my tardiness this morning," I said, thinking he was finished, "and I am aware that I am in no position for second chances; nonetheless, I ask you to please let it slide just this once."

"Plead your case." he said, but I was already expecting that. Whenever something happened to his disliking with an employee, he would give that person an opportunity to explain themselves. He also used it as a method to see of how much value we were; if we couldn't convince him to let something go, or otherwise, then how could we be expected to convince a judge or a jury to sentence someone to prison for heinous crimes?

"I have never been late since I began working for you two years ago, I have always been punctual and worked to the best of my ability. I am also one of the best lawyers here, my conviction of Lawrence Turner is proof of that. Not to mention I have proven myself as an ambitious, risk taking lawyer by taking on that case when there was hardly any evidence to convict Turner. I have been a mentor to others here, and taken on far more responsibility than I should have at times and came out successful. I have never let down anyone, save you for my one fallout that occurred this morning. Therefore, the work I have done for this firm, for my peers, for you, easily compensates for my indiscretion. That is all I have to say."

My hands felt dry and rough, like the desert, and I could still smell the cologne from Eric on me, I begged to the gods that Mr. Marker couldn't smell it, or see how completely disheveled and unhinged I was. I didn't know what I would do if I lost my job, especially over something so trivial; however, nothing was trivial to Mr. Marker. He expected nothing less than perfection, which I had been able to achieve until that day, at least I thought I had achieved it. Mr. Marker placed his hands behind his back and turned around, sitting at his desk. He pulled out a file from his desk and opened it, scanning the contents.

"I assigned this case specifically to you," Mr. Marker turned the file around so that I could see it, "since you did so well with the Turner case, save the few setbacks you encountered, I took the liberty of assuming that you would like something to same extent."

"Thank you sir, but what is the case exactly? I haven't had a chance to go over it."

"Victor Ballesteros, he's a Brazilian cocaine trafficker, his product has been transported all over the world, and just recently entered the U.S. trade. He has been residing in L.A. for the past year, he had plans to move to Japan two months from now; however, that has was canceled when he tried to kill his cousin," Mr. Marker gave me a picture, "Antonio Ballesteros. The police found them in Hotel Cabaña, a run-down shit hole on the outskirts of L.A., with Victor on his knees in front of Antonio, who had a firestorm handgun pointed at Victors head."

"I thought you said Victor tried to kill Antonio?" I inquired.

"I'm getting to that."

"What happened to the other seven?" I asked.

"Gunned down, all by different weapons that were at the scene." he replied.

"Were there any witnesses?"

"No. However, there was a woman a room over that heard a lot of yelling and screaming, her name is Margaret Ann Walsh. She's already been interviewed by the police."

"I would like to interview her myself."

"That's fine. From the evidence found at the scene, it appeared that Antonio and Victor met at the hotel, both bringing a few friends."

"Are you telling me that there was some sort of quarrel the cousins were trying to settle?"

"Yes, and both brought back up just incase things went bad."

"I'm not understanding, what does any of this have to do with me?" I asked, not seeing where this case had anything to my interest.

"Some evidence was found recently that the shoot-out was premeditated . . .by Victor."

"Victor wanted to kill Antonio?" I asked.

"No. He only wanted him to be sent to prison."

"So Victor set him up."

"That's what we believe. Police interviewed Antonio and he vehemently believes that Victor tried to set him up, among other things. That's where you come in. You need to prove to the court that Antonio is innocent and a victim because of Victors drug relations. Proving Victor guilty of the murder of those seven people, drug trafficking, false information, and for setting up his cousin."

"I understand, Sir. I will do my best."

"I would expect nothing less." Mr. Marker replied. "You may leave." I nodded and stood up, exiting his office quickly before he had the opportunity to take anything back. He had let me slide, just that once, and gave me a great chance to prove myself even more among the criminal justice elite. I felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders, only for me to be crushed by the world. I possibly had an innocent mans life in my hands, if he or Victor were convicted, either would serve life without any chance of parole. The thought alone made me second guess myself.

I shook it off and went back to my office, opening the file and thoroughly going through it's contents. There was so much information, and so little time before trial started, about four months. I would have to work fast if I wanted to build a steadfast case against Victor, which I'm sure that he only had one of the best lawyers defending him. I was so focused on getting started that I didn't hear my door open and someone sit right in front of my desk; it was only until the stranger cleared their throat that I knew someone was there.

"What are you doing here? How do you know where I work?" I yelled at Eric Northman, in such a fit of rage that I stood up so quickly that my chair flew back and crashed against the wall behind me.

"Easy, Love," he started, standing up as well, "my wallet got in your purse by accident so I came here to get it back."

"Don't call me that. And how could you wallet 'accidentally' get into my purse?" my eyes narrowed at him in suspicion, wallets just don't accidentally whined up in a purse.

"I might have accidentally fumbled it in there while you were rushing out of the door." he grinned, putting his hands deep into the pockets of a jet black tuxedo, which he looked extremely polished in. The suspicion in me doubled. I looked at him quizzically and crossed my arms over my chest.

"What do you do?" I asked.

"Nothing. I act homeless and wait for people to give me money. You'd be surprised how much homeless people make in a day." Eric replied. I walked around my desk slowly, analyzing every part of him.

"What do you really do, Mr. Northman?" I stopped in front of my desk, leaning against it. From my position we were only a foot apart and I could smell a extremely different cologne on him, one far better than the one I was drenched in.

"Honestly?" he lowered his voice to a whisper, I nodded. Eric closed the distance between us, stepping to me quickly, before extending his arms against my desk and leaning against it, leaning further into me. I almost chocked on my breath. "I find out secrets; anything that a person is hiding. I watch you from the sidelines, invade your home when your not around, even bug it if I have to. I find everything you don't want the world to know, your deepest darkest secrets, your worst fears, your dirtiest fantasies, your biggest regrets." Eric Northman was nothing that I expected when I saw him sitting in front of my desk. I was expecting his light-heartedness, humor, and wit that I had witnessed that morning, but that disappeared. He stood before me as a menacing, multi-faceted figure in the dark black tuxedo, his tussled blonde hair from a few hours ago slicked back. He was a completely different person, and he scared me, he intimidated me. "What are your secrets, Harley?" he asked, his piercing blue eyes digging into my soul like a parasite. I gulped. I couldn't show him that he unsettled me, so I gave him the same expression he gave me and tightened my jaw.

"What do you really do, Mr. Northman?" I asked again. Eric searched my eyes for a lifetime, looking for something I'm sure he was unsuccessful at locating, and stepped back, thrusting his hands back into his pockets.

"I'm a realtor," he said, "I'm showing some houses in the upper east side in a while; my business cards are in my wallet, so I need it." for some odd reason a part of me believed him, but the other part, the part I used when I was in court, the instinct part of me, cried out for me not to. The lightest relief came over me when Eric said that he was a realtor, but still, something didn't feel right.

"Alright," I went back around my desk and grabbed my purse from under it, searching it's contents for some foreign object that would supposedly be his wallet, and by-and-by, it was in there. A dingy, faded, gray wallet with white lining. You would think that if he had a nice tux, shoes, and slicked back hair that he would have enough money to get a descent wallet. I opened it quickly, looking for the business cards and to my surprise, they were there, right behind his platinum silver credit card. I took one out and read it:

"Heave Sent Realty, Eric Northman, 822-967-3581, classy." I gave him his wallet and inspected the card.

"Keep it, just incase you care for a repeat of last night." he smirked, pocketing the worn-out wallet. I opened a drawer in my desk and dropped it inside, closing it.

"I believe there is no reason I should ever have to contact you, unless I'm looking for a home, and know that you would not be my first choice to begin with." I smirked back.

"Easy Love, say anymore and might hurt my feelings."

"As if I give a damn, and don't call me that." I barked back.

"You really must loosen up, Love. Being so stressed can't be good for your skin." he leaned towards me and examined my face vehemently, scrunching up his face in the process, "In fact, I see some premature wrinkles already forming aro-"

"Oh get out!" I yelled, jutting my forefinger to the door. Eric backed up slowly with a smirk.

"Don't worry, I'll get something for you to fix that." he laughed while opening the door.

"Get. Out." Eric looked at me over his shoulder before closing the door and finally leaving. I had never felt so much relief in my life from a person leaving, it was like holding your breath under water, and just before you think your about to die, you get pulled out and take that first gasp for air. I could breath again since the imbecile was gone with his patronizing demeanor. I slumped down in my seat, feeling suddenly hot and unbuttoned my blazer, revealing a thin white undershirt. I looked at the drawer and hesitantly opened it, pulling out the business card and studying it thoroughly. I figured "what the hell", there is no harm in checking. I grabbed my phone and dialed a friend from the police station.

"This is Detective Lancer." he voice was mono-tone.

"Hey Rick, it's Harley."

"Hey, Harley. What's up?" I could hear him smiling through the phone as his voice came alive.

"I need you to do something for me."

"What is it?"

"I need to check on this guy, his name is Eric Northman, he works for Heaven Sent Realty."

"What do you want me to find out?" Rick asked.

"Just if he actually works there, or if it's a legit realty company."

"Alright, is there anything else?"

"No. . .actually, if you find anything else on him, you know . . . anything you think I should know about, just fax the information to me."

"Alright, so what's your interest in this guy, if you don't mind my asking?" Rick asked.

"Nothing, I just want to make sure he's who he says he is."


	2. The Cafe

When I got home that night, I was more than happy to see that everything was set in it's place; however, once the memory of Eric Northman came back, I felt as if I had bathed in a pile of shit with rotten eggs. Yuk. I ripped the sheets and blankets from my bed and put them in the washer, replacing them with a different bed spread I had. I went on a cleaning frenzy: sweeping and mopping the floors, wiping the handprints from the windows and mirrors, putting all of my clothes, shoes, and everything else in it's proper place, scrubbing the bathroom like there was no tomorrow, as well as the kitchen, reorganizing the cabinets, until ultimately, there was absolutely no trace of what happened the night before, just the extremely vague memory. After that I took the most relaxing and enjoyable bath possible; lighting candles, listening to smooth jazz, soaking in the water with bubbles floating all around me. It was completely and utterly perfect. There wasn't a single trace of Ax or Eric on me, which I thoroughly enjoyed. However, that did not last long.

I arrived at my office, feeling a new sense of tranquility that I had ever experienced in my life. The birds were singing, the grass looked greener, it seemed that nothing could possibly phase me. I said "hello" and "good morning" to everyone in the office with what seemed to be a radiant smile, it even threw off Isabell and Marcus.

"You seem awfully happy for a Wednesday." Isabell and Marcus followed behind me as I entered my office.

"Do I?" I asked, "I haven't noticed." I laughed slightly. My two friends glanced at each other before looking back at me with the most suspicious and questionable expressions. "What?" I asked after a few seconds of their intense gaze.

"Did you sleep with Eric again?" Marcus asked, trying to read my face as if he was a human polygraph.

"No." I shot back, tranquility and happiness went right out the door, along with patience. "I would never sleep with that bastard again, or ever. I don't even know if we did it the first time."

"You definitely did it the first time," Isabell smiled, "deny it all you want, you had a glow." she pointed at me with a cheeky grin.

"I did not have a glow."

"Alright you didn't have a glow glow, but you had a faint glow, which is still a glow so it still counts for something." I replied.

"I did not have a glow, for the final time, Isabell. What is up with you guys and this . . .guy?" I asked, balling up my hands into fists and resting them on my hips. "You don't even know him and your hoping that I have another round with him."

"Well, you don't know him either," Marcus retorted, "which isn't a bad thing, you just jumped ahead to the fucking part and completely skipped the 'getting to know each other' part."

"I think that was their 'getting to know each other'," Isabell said, looking at Marcus, "I read in Cosmopolitan that some people have sex with a person to figure out if they are sexually compatible before they find out if they are compatible personality wise."

"I am not that kind of person, Isabell." I shot at her, wondering how she could think so lowly of me.

"Well maybe you are and aren't aware of it. For some people being sexually compatible is more important than actually getting to know the person on a mental level." Isabell replied. Marcus nodded his head, understanding the concept and appeared to weigh it back and forth in his mind.

"Get out, both of you. Instead of receiving the typical 'good morning, how are you doing?' I get this crap. And it's just the beginning of the day!"

"You know what that means," Marcus grinned, "you have the rest of the day to look forward to, with our crap being at the top of your list." I touched my palm to my forehead and closed my eyes, I felt a migraine coming along, and I was in no way prepared for it.

"Will to two of you please just leave." I pointed to the door without looking at them. I could imagine them backing out, not saying anything, and giving each other those knowing looks that were also between them, like some secret mores code that I could not figure out. I didn't open my eyes until I heard the door close, and so I sat down and slumped into my chair.

"It's only eight in the morning and they're already starting. Do they have nothing better to do?

There was an abrupt knock on the door, and me, still being agitated and automatically assuming it to be Isabell or Marcus, or both, I barked at the person before even looking up at them:

"What?" I yelled very loudly. I looked at the door to see a man in a blue uniform, peaking his head through a crack in the door. He retreated somewhat under my intense stare.

"Sorry, are you Harley?" he asked.

"Yes?" what did he want? He entered my office, carrying something somewhat large in front of him. It was a basket filled with things that I could not see. He set it on my desk and pulled out a clipboard and pen.

"I need you to sign here and here." he said, pointing to two empty lines.

"What is this?" I took the clipboard and started to sign as he spoke.

"It's our skin care package with an additional spa package. There is also a appointment reminder for later this evening for your spa treatment." he smiled, taking back the clipboard once I was finished.

"Spa treatment? I didn't order any of this." I gestured to the basket.

"No, it is our signature gift basket from Veda Spa and Salon, it was ordered for you buy a . . ." he glanced at the clipboard, "Eric Northman."

"That bastard," I said under my breath.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing. Take it back." I smiled. There was no way in hell I was going to accept the "gift" from Eric, let alone anything else.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but I cannot do that."

"Why not?" I asked, my voice lined with annoyance.

"Policy ma'am. If you do not like the basket or have any complaints or comments, you are more than welcome to go to Veda and state them there." he smiled, "If that is all ma'am, please enjoy the rest of the day and we look forward to seeing you at Veda this evening." he turned on his heel and exited my office, slamming it slightly behind him. I knew that I pissed him off, even if it was only a little, but I really could care less. I grabbed the basket and turned it around so that I could get a good look at it. There were various skin creams, lotions, oils, a strange massage object, a sea salt scrub that could be used all over the body, fragrences, and candles, among other things. There was a small white cared outlined with silver tucked in the front of the basket; I picked it out and opened it, reading it's contents.

**_Here's a treat from me to you, Old Lady. Enjoy._**

**_-Eric-_**

"Old Lady?" I screeched, throwing the card on the table. "I do not have premature wrinkles you piece of shit." I was in such a fit of rage and annoyance that I retrieved the card and started ripping it to pieces, screeching millions of obscenities about the asshole before plopping down in my seat, breathing heavily, chest heaving up in down in frustration.

"You know what," I said, trying to compose myself, "I am going to completely ignore this, completely, and I am going to get myself together, grab my briefcase, throw the basket in the trash, and go see Antonio. Yes, that is exactly what I am going to do: go see Antonio, get his side of the story, then to the police station to see what evidence they have." I stood up, straitening out my blouse and skirt, grabbed my briefcase along with the basket, and left the office.

* * *

><p>"So why don't we start at the beginning. Tell me why you met with Victor at the hotel." I said, clasping my hands together in front of me. Antonio was extremely young, only in his early twenties, like me; nonetheless, I expected him to be older since his cousin was in his mid-forties. He reminded me of Enrique Inglesias when he was younger, he had the natural seductive and sexy look, along with smoldering hazel eyes that I was sure several women had fallen for. Even the orange jumpsuit he was wearing couldn't take away from his natural beauty.<p>

"You shouldn't be asking me questions about what happened at the hotel." he said.

"Really? Because it's seems to me that's what you are being convicted for: attempted murder," I glanced down at the folder, "and possession of illegal drugs.

"I didn't try to kill Victor, I was just defending myself." Antonio retorted.

"Why?"

"Because Victor came at me."

"That's not what the police saw at the scene."

"I don't give a FUCK about what the police saw, I was defending myself from him! He came at me with a gun and tried to kill me, he should be the one going to prison!"

"Then how did you get the gun away from Victor, Antonio?" I shot back, "How did you get him on the ground when you didn't have one?"

"I did have one!"

"No you didn't. The officers ran the serial numbers on all of the guns at the scene, none of them were registered to you. And your father told me that you've never shot a gun in your life so you wouldn't know what to do with one if twelve of them were laying around you." Antonio slouched back in his seat, his lips curled and aggravation and anger. I sighed and calmed down, he really had no idea what he was in for. "There are holes in your story, there are no witnesses; only you and Victor know what happened in the hotel room. Now it is his story over yours." I said, trying to make him understand the gravity of the situation. Nothing. Antonio didn't say anything or move, not even the slightest twitch of the finger. I tried a different approach.

"Are you close with Victor?" I asked, making my voice more gentle. Antonio hesitated before he answered.

"We're blood. He's always been like a brother to me."

"I see. That's why this is so difficult for you. Family matters in court are always difficult." I knew from experience.

"He said he would always have my back; look out for me ya know?" I could see just how much the entire situation hurt him. Antonio put up a strong front, but he was broken on the inside, and all he wanted to do was hide and make everything disappear. It reminded me of my childhood.

"Yes, I do know," I took my chance, "but you are not responsible for Victor. He is a grown man, a grown man that made bad decisions, a man that made an innocent person take the blame for him. Victor swore that he would protect you, but he didn't Antonio, instead he set you up, he played you and made you believe that he truly cared about you, about your relationship with him. Victor betrayed you, Antonio. Victor lied and manipulated you; that's why you need to tell me everything . . .even the smallest things. Because I can tell, just by looking at you, that you would never kill a man, or affiliate yourself with drugs. But the jury? They're not going to see that, they are going to see the man that Victor wanted them to see. That is why you must tell me everything so that they will know the truth. So they can see through Victors lies and know that you are innocent."

The room was in complete and utter silence. Antonio wasn't going to say anything, to him Victor was still his surrogate brother, blood, family, and that came before anything else . . .even if he did tried to get Antonio sent to prison; and at the rate we were going the chances were pretty high. I rubbed the front of my forehead feeling a migraine coming then put my stuff ago. I gestured for the guard to let me out.

"I'll see you next time." I said, exiting the room and listening to the loud heavy prison door close behind me.

* * *

><p>"Hey Isabell," I called her as I walked down seventeenth street to go to my favorite café for lunch, "yeah the entire thing was flop. I'm sure I'm not gonna get anything out of him . . .at least for a while. Did you go to the police station and get what I asked?" I was supposed to go to the police station to get the statements and evidence they had for the case; however, it took much longer to get to the prison then I thought, and didn't have to time to go to the station.<p>

"Yeah I got it. Even though it isn't that much, but some of it is pretty significant."

"Alright, I'll take a look at it when I get to the office."

"Hey, Har?"

"Yeah?" I stopped at an crosswalk and waited for the flowing red hand to turn into the glowing white man.

"Maybe you should tell him about your mom . . ." I froze. The red hand turned into the man and people around me walked across the street as I stood there, frozen in time.

"That is not relevant." my voice came out in a whisper.

"She called me today . . .she wants to see you." Isabell said hesitantly.

"I see someone's still speaking to her." my body became hot, my face would have been turning read, my temperature was rising, my skin felt sticky and moist, and my limbs ached. After all those years she still didn't get the picture.

"Only for you." she whispered. For me? For me? I could believe my dear friends pettiness. If I wanted to speak to my mother then I would, but the fact was that I didn't, and I never planned to. I never wanted to hear her voice, apologizing to me, see her, with tears running down her face. She had nothing to do with my life anymore.

"The next time you speak to her, on my behalf, don't Isabell. Unless you want to take me out of your emergency contact list." I hung up. I red hand blinked at me and another crowed of people ready to get to the other side of the street swarmed around me, but I didn't care. All I wanted was a drink, I nice cold drink that went smoothly down my throat and washed everything away. A drink that would ease the throbbing in my head and the sickening flips my stomach was doing.

"Did you like the gift?" I was pulled from my desires when a voice rang in my ear abruptly. I looked to my right to see Eric Northman, in the familiar black suit I saw him in the other day with the matching smile and the faintest sparkle in his eyes. How nauseating.

"You again." I said with complete displeasure.

"Don't sound so enthusiastic." he replied sarcastically, shaking off my aura of annoyance.

"Today is not the day, Eric." I said, putting my hand to my forehead as a means to release some type of tension.

"So you do remember my name, fantastic." he smiled. The glowing man came to life and everyone swarmed across the street, while I simply took my time, with, unfortunately, Eric right beside me.

"Don't you have somewhere you need to be?" I barked at him, keeping my eyes low and away from the sun. They became extremely sensitive when I felt sick.

"No, not that I can think of. Why? Am I bothering you?" he poked me in the arm in a childish manner and grinned.

"No, I love your company like always." I retorted with the same sarcasm he showed me only moments ago. There was silence, an awkward silence, but I didn't care, between us. I wanted him to go away, I wanted to be left alone and just go to sleep for the rest of the day. We finally got to the other side, and still nothing was said; however, Eric continued to stride along side me as if he were free for the rest of his life.

"Is something the matter?" he asked. His voice suddenly changed, it was usually spritzy and carefree, much like him; however, it dropped down into almost a deep unrecognizable voice that was filled to the brim with weightiness. I looked at him to see if it was someone else who had spoken to me altogether, but to my surprise it was still him, looking into the crowed of pedestrians in front of us, his eyes steady and focused, searching, his face tight and unflinching. It was as if he were a completely different person.

"No . . ." I said after a moment of digesting the sudden change in him.

"Liar." he said without looking at me, the faintest smile in the corner of his mouth.

"Perhaps." I replied, "Nonetheless, my affairs are of none of your concern."

"Perhaps." he shot back, "But it looks like you could use a drink . . .or a deep tissue massage." Eric finally looked down at me, "You didn't answer my question," he pressed.

"I threw it away." I said, not looking at him. I could only imagine the terror he felt from my actions. It truly was a great gift, even so, I wouldn't accept it from him. I wanted nothing to do with him, but he was adamant on weaving himself into my life like a parasite. But . . .given the recent turn of events, the basket, along with the spa treatment did sound appropriate to alleviate my stress. "However, at the moment it does sound inviting." I added.

"Such a shame you threw it away," Eric tsked, "I spent a pretty penny getting that for you."

"Well you wasted your time."

"It's nice to know my efforts stand for nothing." he said, all joking aside.

"Your efforts are neither wanted nor needed." I shot at him, absentmindedly stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. Eric's eyes narrowed at me and his hands fell into his pockets, his lips pressed into a fine line. "What do you want from me, Eric? I offer you nothing, and still you pry at me like some child begging for attention." I said. Eric rolled his eyes and shook his head, relaxing his lips and shoulders.

"Two nights ago, I made love to a beautiful woman. A woman who had fire and passion a woman who woke up the next day and thought I rapped her," he grinned. I mentally slapped myself for going to such extremes. "And for the past two days I have been thinking about that woman non-stop. The woman who threw a lamp at me, the woman who tried to call the police on me, the woman who cried out my name while we did the most intimate act known to man. For two days you have filled my mind like music, and I'm stuck singing to tune." Eric took my hand in his, holding it gently. What was this? What was happening? The sickness I felt, the heat that encased my body, the stickiness of my skin, it fell away. I felt calm and I had no idea why. "I want to get to know you, Harley. I want to learn everything about you. I want to know if you like Brussels sprouts or radishes, or what types of movies you like, or if you've ever been to Paris, or what your pet peeves are, or if you've ever had surgery." he looked at me with the bluest eyes I had ever laid eyes upon, a crystal, deep, dark, sparkling, clear, blue that made my insides leap forward. There was sincerity in those eyes, and a gravity to them that was unmistakable. A gravity that accentuated his sincerity.

"Harley, I can't get you out of my head." he said. Then the awkward silence. At least for me; I could that Eric didn't feel awkward at all, instead he was just waiting for my reply. What was I supposed to say? "Go fall off a cliff and die in a ditch?" even I wasn't that heartless. He gushed out his feelings for me, but still I didn't like him. No matter what I didn't think there was any possible way I could like him . . .but I felt that I could tolerate him. Tolerate his indolence and stupidity. I could do that, since there really was not point in becoming friends with him or even more than that considering where my life was heading. Eric was a distraction, a massive idiotic distraction that pissed me off; nonetheless, no matter how much I wanted to tell him to "fuck off", I composed myself and acted with maturity about the situation. I tried to pull my hand away, which he held more tightly, but eventually became free of his grip, disappointment filled his face.

"Have you eaten?" I asked.

"No. I'm assuming you haven't?" Eric shoved his hands in his pockets.

"No . . .you can, umm" I cleared my throat, "join me for lunch then, if your not busy."

"I don't know," he drew out, scratching his head a little, pretending to think about it, with a faint smile "you were very snappy at me earlier."

"Suit yourself then." I turned on my heel and continued walking toward the café. It wasn't long until I heard his long strides following right after me until he was walking right beside me.

"So what was wrong earlier?" he asked, in a similar deep unrecognizable voice from earlier. I was awestruck at just how easily he could change his voice.

"Nothing of importance." I replied, looking into the crowed.

"Really? If it wasn't important then why were you so upset?"

"I wasn't upset," I snapped at him. His eyebrows raised at the change in my tone, silently saying _are you sure you weren't upset? _in a sarcastic way. "I was irritated." I said in a calmer tone.

"Ah, it must be that time of the month." he grinned jokingly. My lips pressed into a fine line as I struggled to contain the wave of curses that wanted to come out and smite him and slap that grin of his face.

"No it is not." I said through clenched teeth, "Someone was supposed to meet me here," I lied, "she flaked."

"Isabell I presume?"

"No, someone else. I really do not like eating alone," which was a complete and total lie, I preferred eating by myself, it gave me time to think about anything my mind wandered to. It was a special me time with my thoughts and delicious food. This made me wonder why I was sharing my "me time" with Eric, out of all the people in the world, but I did not dwell on it for long. "Since she couldn't come, I suppose I will settle for your company." I said.

* * *

><p>"Can I get the club sandwich, no cheese, no mayo, extra tomato and lettuce, instead of fries I would like a garden salad with no unions and the dressing on the side please." I told the waitress, handing her my menu.<p>

"I'll just have the blue bell burger, medium well." Eric said, giving me the most curious look as he handed his menu to the waitress. I placed my napkin on my lap and wiped the end of my straw before drinking my water. Eric wore a scrutinizing expression mixed with curiosity with his arms crossed of his chest and his body relaxed against the plush maroon booth. I finally noticed that he was staring and felt extremely self conscious all of sudden and gulped down what water I had in my mouth before sitting erect.

"Is something on my face?" I asked, running my hand across my cheeks to remove what ever imperfections there might be.

"Do you always do that? Order so . . ." he took a moment to think of the word, scrunching up his face in the process, "rigorously?" he added.

"I want everything to my liking, whether it's handling business or ordering lunch."

"Don't you think that irks people a little?"

"Maybe, but it depends on what it's for. Then again, I'm not one of those women that just breaks everything down just to give people a hard time. For example, because I am very conscious about my health I ordered the club sandwich and the salad instead of the fries, now my intention was not to give the waitress or the chefs more work or cause them stress, but if they believe that was my intention, then there is nothing I can do. Either was, I get exactly what I wanted."

"You have an explanation for everything." Eric smiled, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

"It's not about having an explanation. It's about getting what I want, and if I have to explain why I want something or why something should be done the way I want it to, then I will."

"What about when you don't get what you want?"

"Well, sometimes there are things we can't control. And I accept that, rather than rant like a child."

"Like that night?" Eric asked with a seductive grin that made my skin tingle, but most likely it was the fact that we were seated directly blow an air vent.

"That is an exception. I had control, and then I lost it."

"You definitely did. Who would have known that an uptight perfectionist, such as yourself, would or could ever be amazing in bed."

"Do you talk like this to every woman you meet?" I asked in detest.

"Yes." he grinned.

"It's nice to know that I'm not the exception." I smoothed out the napkin in my lap. "How is it that someone like you became a realtor?"

"Someone like me?" he appeared offended.

"Yes: vulgar, uncouth, obnoxious, narcissistic, arrogant, unorthodox, _you. _How does that happen?"

"I may come off as all of these fantastic things to you," he smiled, "however, business is business. I become a completely different person when I'm showing a house."

"I hardly believe that." I said.

"Maybe you should come with me to a showing then . . .tomorrow afternoon. Then you could see first hand what I'm like when I'm working."

"I'd prefer not, besides, I highly doubt it would be that interesting."

"You just keep shooting me down." Eric said with a stressed laugh. "Nonetheless, you will come with me and watch me show the house, then I will take you to dinner." he grinned.

"Absolutely not." I barked at him. "Consider yourself lucky that I even invited you to lunch. Dinner is completely out of the question."

"So lunch again then? Or maybe even breakfast?"

"I never have breakfast in the morning." I replied.

"No wonder your so cranky." Eric teased. I rolled my eyes and watched as the waitress came down the isle with a tray covered in food. She set it down before us and left, going to the next table a few booths over to help ease a screaming child.

"I am not cranky." I defended. "I have a lot on my plate lately. I'm just . . .under a bit of stress." why was I explaining my edginess to him?

"Aren't we all? Let me be of some use to you, since I'm considered less than larva in your book," I laughed lightly at his words and started eating, "what's on your mind?" he asked, taking a few fries and stuffing them in his mouth.

"Everything . . .and nothing at the same time. It's complicated. Not to mention your hardly the person I should be talking to about my problems."

"I guess," Eric nodded, wiping his mouth with the napkin, "but sometimes it's easier to talk to someone you barely know than it is your best friend." I never thought about that before. Sometimes it was easier to talk to a stranger that to someone I was extremely close with. They were objective and didn't judge, and their advice was completely honest and more helpful than anything else since they weren't involved in my life at all. That's how Eric felt at the moment, but five minutes later he would turn into the bumbling idiot I wanted to run over with a train. So I took the opportunity.

"I'm working a case . . .a case that I don't think I have any chance of winning."

"Why is that?"

"Because it's something that I can relate to. I'm afraid that this case is going to wake up the ghosts I've been hiding in my closet . . .that it's going to get too personal, that I'm gonna lose control, that I'm gonna disappoint the people that gave me this opportunity, and ultimately lose the case."

"If you feel that way why don't you give it to someone else?" he stopped eating and looked at me, the same sincerity and gravity in his eyes as before.

"Because I don't want to be weak. I don't want to be that lawyer that goes back on the promises she made. I don't want to be that lawyer that started out so strong and ambitious, then crumbled into a vat of nothingness because of one case she made the mistake in taking." the air was still around us as the intensity of my words settled into his skin. I suddenly felt horrible for laying down so much on him in one breath, my words had completely altered the atmosphere and for once he had nothing to say. It was surprising but enlightening at the same time. I tried to salvage what was left of the moment.

"I'm sorry, I've said to much. I told you your not the person I should be talking to." I gave a stressed laugh. Eric didn't say anything, he looked outside the window and twirled his fork between his fingers. I looked at my watch. "I should go," I stood up and pulled out my wallet from my purse, putting down sixteen dollars on the table. I walked away from the booth, glancing back at it over my shoulder, only able to see a patch of his blonde hair. I rushed out of the café and headed toward the office, clutching my purse close to me to calm myself. "Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. Why would you do that?" I lightly slapped myself on the forehead over and over again with each word. I looked at my watch again, I had less then twenty minutes to get to the office, fan-fucking-tastic.

Suddenly, a heard an abrupt buzzing in my ear as if a fly was circling around my head, and began swatting it away. That was when I heard it.

"Harley!" I jumped slightly, right before freezing from the sudden scream of my name. I slowly turned around, which seemed pointless since I couldn't see the object that said my name. I swayed left and right, stretching to see who it was that was calling for me, only for my eyes to fall upon blonde hair, once strait and slicked back, now disheveled and messy. "Harley!" Eric yelled, pushing his way through the crowed until he stood before me, huffing slightly.

"What is it? Did I forget something?" I asked, wondering why he was there.

"Come with me tomorrow." he huffed.

"Excuse me?"

"Come with me to the house showing,"

"Eric," I started to protest; however, he cut me off before I could begin the actual protesting.

"We don't have to go to lunch or dinner or whatever. You don't even have to talk to me. Just come with me to the showing tomorrow afternoon then I'll take you strait back to the office or anywhere you want to go."

"Eric,"

"Just say you'll come." he pressed, his intensity and assertiveness coming out. "That's all I'm asking."

* * *

><p><strong>Aznduddet: <strong>Thank you for reading and following along, this has been a lot of fun to write and i thoroughly enjoy it. Please review if you want more! or to just show your love/support =D thank ya


	3. The House

"You saw him again?" Isabell shrieked as I received my tall white mocha latte from the Starbucks employee with a smile. I sighed at my friends unrequited enthusiasm that not even a three year old could beat. We sat down at a table adjacent to the door, Isabell gripping her cup so tightly that her French manicured nails began to make indentations in the poor flimsy thing. I pitted the cup that endured the wrath of Isabell.

"Yes . . .and no. It wasn't premeditated." I answered.

"But still you saw him, and your just now telling me? You selfish bitch." she grinned evily. I rolled my eyes at her and drank my latte. "So what happened? I want to know everything, don't spare any details."

"Well," I dragged out, drumming my fingers on the smooth table top, "he appeared out of no where right after we talked on the phone." her expression fell and she opened her mouth to say something; however, I put my hand up silently saying that she didn't need to apologize or anything. She gave a reassuring smile and loosened her grip on the cup.

"And after that?" she asked.

"Umm," the memory seemed somewhat vague to me all of a sudden. What did happen? What did we talk about? "We talked about something, and then he pissed me off and I wanted him to go away . . .then he started to . . ." I let the unfinished sentence hang in the air as I remembered what he said, I smiled at the memory. The bastard called me beautiful, crazy, and pretty much insane, but he couldn't get me out of his head. It made me wonder if we really did have sex that night, or if I was just ignoring the fact that we did, since he was very adamant on convincing me that we did have sex.

"Toooo . . .?" Isabell waved her hand in an oval like motion, gesturing for me to continue.

"Nothing." I replied. "We ended up going to lunch and then we talked about my career and his career and . . .well that's about it." I gave a stressed laugh and finished my latte.

"What? That's it?" Isabell asked in disappointment. "What do you mean 'that's it'?"

"There might have been a few parts I forgot, but that's the gist of it really. At the end of it I just became mad and left. Then he ran out after me practically begging me to go to a house showing that's," I glanced at my watch, "in a few hours actually."

"He ran out after you?" her voice became dreamy and her eyes glazed, "That's so romantic, Har. I wish someone would run after me, begging me to spend the afternoon with them."

"Oh please, it's annoying." I tsked.

"You're so lucky. So what are you going to wear?"

"What do you mean?"

"When you go see Eric later, what are you going to wear?"

"I never said I was going to see him." I snapped at her.

"But he begged you!"

"So! Just because Marcus begs you to sleep with him doesn't mean you do!" I shot back. Marcus and Isabell had a very minor fling when they first met, but it didn't last long, and ultimately became sex buddies, but that didn't last long either. Everything was fine between them after, but every now and then Marcus would beg Isabell to have sex with him, for "old times sack" supposedly.

"I guess you're right," she grimaced, her voice falling, "but this is different!" her voice peaked.

"Sure, it's different, but still I have no interest in Eric whatsoever. At the most I am ever going to allow us to be is acquaintances, and very distant acquaintances at that."

"Whatever, I still think you should see him. I mean, he can't be all that bad, I haven't spent as much time with him as you have, nonetheless, he's making an effort, which is very admirable." Isabell stated with a smile before drinking her coffee.

"I agree, but it all comes down to mutual interest. I'm not interested."

"You're just stubborn," she stated, which caught me off guard a little, "You have your head stuck so far up your ass and all these excuses, which honestly are complete bullshit, that you are letting this guy, who seems great and is truly making an effort to get your attention, dangle in front of you on a string. And Har, if you don't grab him, someone else will, and then knowing you you'll say 'it's for the best, I need to focus on my work so I can become D.A.', when in reality you're crying in the shower because you lost your chance at nabbing him."

My jaw was literarily covering the floor, it unhinged and fell to the ground with a bang. What the fuck was that? Isabell said a lot of shit to me in the past, mostly in a joking manner, but that, that was just uncalled for. Who the hell was she to tell me how to live my life or to pursue something that I honestly didn't have any interest in.

"Where did that come from?" I asked, picking up my jaw from the floor.

"Har," Isabell sighed, "I know that you really want to become D.A. for your own reasons, but I have seen you pass up amazing guys. You see them as a distraction, and their not, sure sometimes they can be, but most of the time they can be a support system, they can help."

'I don't need to hear this." I grabbed my purse from the side of the chair and stood up.

"Harley," Isabell called, struggling to follow after me as I left. I ignored her and kept going, meandering my way through the crowed of people do the exact same thing as me, heading back to the office.

"This is exactly what I mean." Isabell said, finally catching up with me, even though I had no intention of being around her.

"What are you blubbering about?" I was completely and utterly irritated at that point.

"You are so damn stubborn that you don't even know when someone is trying to help you."

"The point is I don't want your help, Isabell." I glared at her. "I don't want it and I never asked for it. You can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped, didn't someone ever teach you that?"

"Don't you fucking talk down to me like a child." Isabell stepped to me, her angry showing clear as day. "I may not have an 85 percent conviction rate, or be in good graces with everyone in the firm, but at least I'm happy."

"Are you saying that I'm not?"

"I know you're not. You come to the office and work, then go home and do what? Work? I've known you ever since you came to the firm and that night with me, Marcus, Porscha, and Eric was the first night you ever went out. So don't you dare think your better than me just because of numbers, after all that's all they are, numbers."

"I am happy, I'm doing what I love and I'm reaching my goal of becoming D.A.. I'm going to become D.A. of Los Angeles and I'm going to be the most successful D.A. I can be. And I don't need Eric or you getting in the way of that."

"And that's why you're never going to become D.A., because you don't feel anything. Besides, what's the point of having all that success if you don't have anyone to share it with?" she asked. Her expression turned abruptly sad in the warm sunlight. "I honestly thought you were better than that." she said, before continuing to the office.

"That phrase is so overused." I grunted, heading back toward the office as well but keeping my distance from Isabell.

* * *

><p>What the hell was I doing? Why was I standing outside of the gorgeous house that Eric was, which he failed to mention to me, showing to various couples, leaving myself as the only single person there? I felt like hiding my face in my hands or burying my face in the corner of some wall to hide from the embarrassment and awkwardness. Instead, I kept to looking at the house and everything else around it that was ten feet off the ground so that I wouldn't be tempted to meet the eyes of the staring couples.<p>

After the little episode with Isabell, I couldn't get her annoying little voice out of my head, constantly nagging me. Afterall, I was happy, no one can ever say another person is not happen unless they are them, and Isabell was on a completely different planet compared to me. Nonetheless, I just couldn't shake her; he cold scowl, her tense body, her screeching voice, it was the first time I ever saw her in such a fit, it was somewhat entertaining in a way. I decided to take a long lunch, since I was getting anywhere until Antonio talked to me, and went to my house and changed into something more comfortable: a gray satin pencil skirt with a black tight fitting blouse with a matching waist long jacket and black pumps. I was presentable, yet casual.

"Don't understand why they're making such a huge fuss." I said, glancing at the exterior of the house. It was three stories and stretched across approximately an acre of land with pool and jungle gym set, obviously for show for the clients with kids. It was a nice addition since they would be more inclined if the residence was more kid friendly. However, none of that could compensate for the grotesque yellow that covered the outside of the house. It looked like Big Bird accidentally ended up on a rocket that exploded all over the poor house.

Just as I was thinking this, the fantastic host as well as realtor appeared from inside the house, his hands clasped together, a million dollar smile on his face, and a familiar black suit on with his hair slicked back, parted on the side, and said hello to everyone.

"Fantastic, well it seems that this is everyone. I am glad that all of you could find the time to come by and see the wonderful residence I am about to show you. I am aware that it was quite the drive, but believe that it will be well worth it." Eric said, his hands raised as if he were preaching. I could see and hear the women whispering among themselves, away from their husbands and boyfriends about the handsome man showing them the house, and if he came along with it.

"People have no shame." I muttered to myself, leaning against a wall, away from the couples, with my arms crossed over my chest.

"Now, if everyone would please proceed inside, make yourself comfortable with the refreshments and catering that has been provided, and I will be there in a brief moment to begin the showing." Eric smiled, gesturing for everyone to go inside. I rolled my eyes and followed behind gingerly. The couples were inside before I could get to the door, and by that time Eric was already making his way towards me, which was about fifteen feet.

"Glad to see you could make it." his smile became more relaxed and his voice less energetic.

"I had a business meeting that was canceled; I had nothing better to do." I lied. I wasn't going to tell him that I actually took a chunk of time out of my day to see what he does.

"Well thank goodness for that." Eric bit the corner of his mouth lightly and his eyes became more gentle and glazed over slightly. I suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

"This house is disgusting," I pointed at it, hoping to change the strange aura that surrounded us. "it looks like someone binging on lemons threw up on it." I said. Eric gave a hearty laugh that surprised the hell out of me. It was completely different from his voice; it was deep and husky and gruff, it reminded of Arnold Swartzenagers laugh in a way. It made me wonder if I heard him laugh before, in all honesty I couldn't recall at all whether or not I heard him laugh in the past few days, then again I really didn't care.

"It has a sense of humor." Eric gruffed out after he momentarily compose himself.

" 'It'?" I asked, becoming perturbed that he would call me an "it".

"I thought you were an android at first, but I have been proven otherwise." he laughed lightly.

"What's an android?" I asked. His expression changed drastically, it was no longer the carefree one that I had just witnessed, but the serious one I saw on occasion. His eyebrows stitched together, his lips pressed together, and the look in his eyes was . . .astonishment? I couldn't put my finger on it, but his eyes were simply put: a pool of emotions.

"You don't get out much do you?" Eric asked.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I was getting defensive.

"Nothing, nothing at all." Eric gave me a very slow once over, glancing at me with the same eyes filled with various emotions. At times he was extremely difficult to read, like then, but at other times he was very predictable. "You should have went home and changed." he tsked.

"I did." I corrected.

"Are you comfortable in that?" he asked, circling around me, assessing my attire.

"Very much so. Is something wrong with it? Do I have dirt on my skirt?" I started patting down my skirt, getting off any dirt that might have found it's way onto one of my favorite skirts. It wasn't until Eric was standing in front of me, watching my dust off my skirt, with a faint smile that his hand failed at covering that I realized he was messing with me.

"You went home and changed for me?" he asked, the faint smile getting bigger.

"Please, don't flatter yourself." I muttered, looking at the house again.

"I'll take that as a yes." he grinned, gingerly walking back toward the house.

"Don't take that as anything. Why would I do something like that, especially for the likes of you?" I chided.

"To impress me." Eric replied, in a somewhat serious tone.

"You continue to impress me, Eric." I replied sarcastically, "You are far more self absorbed than I thought you were."

"And you're just as pompous as I thought you were." he shot back.

"Pompous?" I shrieked.

"Yes. P-O-M-P-O-U-S."

"I am not pompous, Eric."

"You're in denial too. That's a new addition." he smirked, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

"Asshole. You're doing this just so you can get a rise out of me."

"I never met anyone that has such a short fuse, Harley." his smirk broadened, "it's entertaining making you all hot and bothered." Eric bit his bottom lip and continued toward the house.

"Hot and bothered? Hot and bothered?" I was infuriated, "You make me the exact opposite, you annoy and anger me. That's what you do Eric. You drive me so insane that I'm on the brink of going into premature menopause."

"Hot and bothered, annoyed and angry, it's all the same. Either way, both make great combinations for hot, steamy, animal sex." he grinned and winked at me before entering the house, opening his arms wide and formally introducing himself to the prospective buyers. And with that, the argument was over; or could it be called an argument? Perhaps a one sided argument, or just a vain attempt at venting at the brute. I shrugged it off, following on the side of the group as Eric talked about the house.

* * *

><p>"Let us begin, first I'll give you a little history and synopsis on the house" Eric said in front of the group of couples, "now the entire residence was built in the early 1800's, ever since then it's gone through countless renovations and upgrades, just recently the electrical and plumbing were updated, so you'll find there are no problems in that area. The first floor was mostly for entertaining guests, large gatherings, parties, etc. It's still used that way today, but it still has the family aspect of it as well with a magnificent kitchen and living room. The second floor consists of bedrooms and other large rooms that can be made into game rooms, home gyms, pretty much anything your heart desires. The second floor also has a mini kitchen with a full working stove, fridge, microwave, and nice tabletops. The third floor is similar to the second floor; however, there are no bedrooms or mini kitchen. There is an immense amount of storage space, but I highly doubt it will be needed, and two large rooms that can be used for entertainment or relaxation. It really depends on what you like. In the past the rooms have been used at movie theatres, gyms, and game rooms."<p>

I continued to watch Eric as he lead us through the house, stopping here and there to talk about different aspects of it in detail, answering questions, making jokes to lighten the mood, and overall just doing his job. Over the past few days I started to see that Eric had countless facets to him. He had more than one personality, which was quick to change depending on the situation, and that in itself made him interesting. There weren't many people who could snap their fingers and become a completely different person. That also made me worry . . .who was the real Eric? Was it the light-hearted man that always teased me, or the serious ready-for-business man that was showing the house? Or was he someone different all together? I rubbed the center of my chest because it started to burn abruptly and continued following alongside the couples.

I listened to Eric and watched him attentively; however, I was sidetracked when I heard two women, away from their husbands, whispering amongst themselves.

"He is so handsome." the first giggled.

"He's a God." the other said with no shame whatsoever, "I can't help but wonder how he looks without that suit on." she bit her bottom lip and her eyes smoldered as she imagined him naked.

"Oh my lord yes." the first moaned slightly. I could feel the horniness radiating from them and it made me want to puke.

"I wonder if he's single." the second said.

"Clarissa!" the first barked at her, "You are a married woman."

"Don't act all high and mighty, Janice. I know Lucas isn't the only man you've slept with in the past month." Clarissa whispered, causing Janice to drop her head in disgrace and turn his lips down in a pout.

"I'm not proud of what I did." Janice replied.

"Neither am I, but I would cheat on my husband in a heartbeat if Eric gave me a chance. Maybe I can find an empty room and get him inside." Clarissa giggled.

"But I think he's with that woman?" Janice said, pointing in my direction. I wasn't staring at them, just listening to their conversation as I pretended to listen to Eric. I could see them looking at me from my peripheral vision.

"Her?" Clarissa snided. "I don't think so."

"He was talking to her outside. They seem to know each other."

"And that's it. They know each other." Clarissa snapped back. "There is no chance in her pathetic life that she could have a man like Eric." The woman was like she already had her claim on Eric, which irked me the wrong way since she didn't know him at all, besides she was married! That was the type of woman I hated, the one that had everything she could dream of, a fantastic man, a possible beautiful home, probably a few kids, but still that was not enough for her. She had all of that but she still wanted Eric. What were women coming to? When did women become so selfish and conniving? It made me reflect and wonder if I was that way, but I knew that I wasn't, so I didn't waste time dwelling on the thought. I was no frustrated with the witch that I turned my attention to Eric, who already making his way toward me to my surprise. I noticed that the crowed had already dispersed and was going every which way.

"Where are they going?" I asked, pointing to the couples, the women hid a few feet away behind a pillar and watched us.

"I told them to explore the house on their own for a while before we went outside to look at the rest of it."

"Oh."

"So what do you think?" Eric asked, putting his hands in front pockets.

"It's nice actually, the interior is. I like the chandelier in the foyer and the Persian rug in the den."

"I wasn't talking about the house." he grinned.

"Right, of course you weren't," I gave a stressed laugh, "You were . . .sufficient." I replied.

"Sufficient?"

"Yes. You explained everything . . .to an extent, kept the viewers entertained; sufficient." I explained. Eric scuffed and combed his fingers through his hair.

"So you wouldn't buy this house?" he asked. I laughed at his question.

"It's not like a could if I wanted to. It's worth more than I could make in five lifetimes."

"That's true. But there are houses very similar to this that are in your price range. Of course their not as big, but their just as nice."

"Are you trying to sell me a house?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

"I'm trying to give you a private showing." he grinned. I caught the double meaning immediately. Eric and I alone, in a house, in an isolated area, with nothing but time to kill and unused sofas, beds, and other surfaces. I was not interested. I glanced out of the corner of my eye and suddenly remembered the women that were watching us, their husbands looking around the house without them. They thought I was incapable of having a man that looked like Eric? I absolutely despised it when people looked down on me. If someone really wanted to piss me off, all they had to say was that I wasn't good enough and I would go off on them like demon from hell. The spiteful bitches.

"No thank you, I like my condo just fine."

"I like it too." Eric smirked, "But I think you could use something more spacious."

"No, you're thinking you can get in my bed again. That isn't happening."

"For now." he snapped back. I sighed and looked at my watch. My lunch was almost over.

"I have to go."

"Why? I haven't finished showing you the rest of house?" his voice was filled with alarm and disappointment.

"I've already seen enough. Besides, I don't think I can take much more of Beaves and Butthead over there." I tilted my head in my direction. Eric looked at the pillar and saw the peering through the side of it, he shook his head with a smile. "This was . . .an experience though. I will give you that."

"I deserve more than that," Eric chided, "you were supposed to stay the entire time, but instead you just came to eat the cake and not enjoy the party." he said. It was a strange metaphor.

"Well I apologize for that, but I really do need to go." I turned around, only to be snapped back into place when a hand grabbed my wrist firmly and turned me around and pulled me in. My body was pressed flush against Eric, who, luckily for him, there was no one around except for the two women.

"Apology not accepted." his expression was serious but soft at the same time. "If you want to apologize meet met at Café Ardor tonight at eight."

"I have better things to do than sip on cappuccinos with you." I replied.

"Like working on your stamp collection?" he teased. "You had time to see me now, so you can, and will, see me later. If not, I'm just gonna have to keep you here until you agree to." his grip tightened on my wrist as he grabbed my other one and placed both behind my back.

"Let go of me asshole. I have to go."

"I'm sorry, but did you say you were going to Café Ardor tonight?"

"I am not going to some shithole with you, Eric."

"Harley, I hate how you think every place I go to is a shithole. You're insulting my taste." he smiled.

"Taste? What taste? You have no taste."

"But I do don't I? just moments ago were you not ogling at me like a child looking at a giant piece of candy."

"First off, I would never compare you to a piece of candy, more of a giant rat, secondly, I was not ogling at you at all, I wasn't even paying attention to you."

"If this is your attempt at an apology it's not working for me." Eric started to life with the million dollar smile that I saw earlier.

"I hate it when you do that, always messing with me like some kid." I voice was sharp and cut into the air like a knife.

"That's because your fun to tease, Love." before I could form the words for a comeback and to tell him not to call me that horrible pet name, his lips pressed softly against mine briefly before his teeth captured my bottom lip and tugged lightly. And just as quickly as it happened, it was over. My chest started to burn again. Eric let go of my hands and took a step back, putting his hands back in his pockets. "I'll see you tonight, Love." he said with the faintest grin on his lips.

I wanted nothing more than to beat and curse him until the heavens burst open and the angles came down to stop me from screaming anymore profanities. But I couldn't formulate any words, I couldn't even think. My brain completely and utterly shut down as I watched him walk away and exit through the back door. It wasn't until I heard a loud bang, followed by a shriek, that I came back to my senses. I looked to see that Clarissa, one of the women whispering about Eric and I, was on the floor, being fanned by Janice. Apparently she passed out and soon everyone was emerging from the various parts of the house and rushing to her aid. I rubbed my burning chest and quickly left the house before I was late to the office, but mostly before I could run into Eric again.

* * *

><p><strong>From me to you: <strong>I sincerely hope you enjoyed that, i'm having a lot of fun writing this, which is strange bc usually my fics feel like a burden after a while, but i'm still going strong and have good feelings about this one. I would like to thank the people that do review, and to EVERYONE ELSE** PLEASE REVIEW**! I really want feedback because that, above everything else, keeps me writing. So thank you and i hope you look forward to the next one.


	4. Cafe Ardor

Before I went back to the office I stopped at my condo and changed into the clothes I had been wearing earlier, I was not stupid enough to walk in there with a completely different outfit on, only to hear Isabell rant with excitement about how I saw Eric. I did not need that for the rest of my life. Until I returned to the office I was incapable of thinking about anything else except the kiss. Why did it bother me so much? Then again, it didn't bother me that much at all, which really concerned me. I rubbed my chest as it started burning again; it was happening frequently and I thought maybe that I had heartburn or something, but I didn't really eat anything, so it must have been the stress.

"He was just teasing me, as always." I said, replaying the scene over and over again, "Actually, he was just putting on a show for those women, it had nothing to do with me. That's what it was." I assured myself. "He knew that every woman in there was staring and whispering about him, why wouldn't he do something like that if he was annoyed?" I asked myself, thinking out loud. "But how do I know if he was annoyed?" I laughed, "He might have liked it; all the attention. Maybe he was just trying to make them 'hot and bothered', the cheeky bastard. Eric would do that, actually he has done that: teased and messed with someone until they can't think strait. He does it to me all the time. Urgggg!" I groaned, "Even when I'm not around him he still drives me insane. He can't be good for my health, I feel my blood pressure rising as it is."

I finally arrived at my building and took the elevator to the twenty-second floor and went into my office. I was welcomed by a small stack of files and reports that had been delivered to me earlier that morning. I sat down and opened the first one. I read it thoroughly, making sure not to miss any details from the police report, but something did trip me up.

"This doesn't make sense. I was told that there were twelve guns found at the scene, but this says there were fifteen." I looked at the pictures of every individual gun, spreading them out on the table. I grabbed the phone off the received and called the police department.

"This is Detective Lancer." Rick answered in the same monotone voice.

"Rick it's Harley, this report, when was it written?"

"Good afternoon to you too," he grimaced, "which one?" he asked.

"The one for the Ballasteros case. I have the reports on my desk but some of this doesn't add up."

"This morning."

"Well why is it that I was told there were twelve guns at the scene when there were fifteen? At least that's what the report says." I asked, I was becoming impatient.

"The other three were found last night by the CSI, we ran the serial number on one of them but it don't belong to any of the guys there. The numbers on the other two were scratched off."

"What about prints?" I asked.

"We ran them a few hours ago, we found prints on one of the guns belonging to a Roger Hernandez, he isn't the original owner of the gun and we have yet to find him, and we found prints on the other two guns belonging to Antonio Ballasteros."

"What?" I yelled at him, "And you couldn't tell me this sooner that Antonio's prints were found on two unregistered guns at the crime scene?"

"I was going to fax you all of that tonight." Rick replied, his voice retreating.

"Next time, don't wait a few hours to send me something that important." I snapped and slammed the phone back onto the received. "Shit." As soon as I started going over the report again my printer started going off, and out popped the latest report from Rick, containing the information he reluctantly just told me. I scanned over it quickly.

"So the twelve guns that are registered were found on or by the persons they belonged to, but the other three were scattered around the room. One the guns Antonio had was hidden in an air vent, and the other behind the toilet bowl. How the hell would he have enough time to stash the guns there if there was a shoot out?" it seemed the Antonio wasn't necessarily the victim.

* * *

><p>After the discovery that was made about Antonio and the two firearms with his prints on them, distraction became my top priority. Something was going on, I didn't know what exactly, but something was happening between the Ballasteros cousins and it didn't seem right by any means. No matter how hard I tried to distract myself, I could not get the discovery out of my head. Antonios father told me that his son had never used a gun before in his life, and wouldn't even know what to do with it if he did . . .but his prints were found on three: two that had unknown owners, and the one he was holding to Victors head when the police found them.<p>

"What if the guns were already there?" I asked myself as I walked down the slightly busy Corridor Avenue, "What if he put them there before Victor and his gang arrived? I don't even know if he went to the hotel before his cousin did." I sighed to myself. " I have to talk to Antonio. I'm supposed to be defending this kid, but as of late, I don't know if I want to." I shook my head, letting the cold air wash over me; it felt so refreshing.

I wrapped my jacket tighter around me, not wanting the warmth to disperse and dissipate into the air and continued walking. I decided to think about Café Ardor. What exactly was going to happen there? It sounded appealing, a little, but then again it was Eric who wanted to go. After a few hours of deliberating after office hours I decided to go to the Café simply to entertain and distract myself; if Eric was useful for anything, it was distracting me. After all that is exactly what he had been doing for the past few days.

It was not long until I found it, the small hovel in the ground that was actually attractive. As I in through the window, it appeared to be a very mellow and calm place, the lights were extremely dim, candles dotted the tables and counters, a sweet aroma of coffee and teas filled the air that warmed me from the inside. It reminded me of my grandmothers; every night she would relax by dimming the lights and letting the fireplace be the only source of light. My parents, grandma, and I would sit around it, drinking hot chocolate, eating smores and other sweets until I fell asleep. But that was a very long time ago.

I glanced at my watch, it was ten past eight and leisurely went inside. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust from the bright lights of the street to the low light of the café, but it was very easy for me to locate the patch of blonde hair sitting twenty feet away from me at a table in the middle of the room. I took my jacket off and placed it over my arm, going to the table and sitting across from Eric.

"I knew you would come." Eric grinned, drinking something that smelt absolutely amazing.

"You hoped I would come." I corrected. I placed my jacket on the back of the chair and Eric pushed a large maroon mug in my direction.

"No. I knew you would." he retorted with a smile.

"What is this?" I asked, sensing that it was the same thing that he had.

"I don't know exactly," he looked at his own cup with a scrutinizing expression before looking at me. "It's some combination of coffee and tea with hazelnut and some cream. It's supposed to be the new house special."

"That's . . .interesting." I whispered, taking the mug between my hands and taking a careful sip, being sure not to burn my lips or tongue. However, that didn't matter, it was like liquid fire scorching my throat in the best possible way. There were thousands of flavors that my taste buds and senses went into taste overload. It was sweet, tangy, spicy, and felt like it was melting in my mouth like a solid. I unconsciously took a giant gulp and put the mug back on the table, huffing and puffing from the amazing concoction that I knew I would become obsessed with.

"Is it good?" Eric asked with a smile behind his mug as he took a drink.

"That is fantastic." I grinned, "I've never had anything like it before, it's-it's-it's-it's like sex in a cup."

Eric choked at my last sentence and wiped his mouth with the back of his long sleeve shirt, it wasn't until then that I noticed what he was wearing, which was faded Levi jeans the fit loosely but hinted at his muscular legs, and a gray long sleeve shirt and also hinted at his defined chiseled abs.

"Sex in a cup?" he asked.

"You know what I mean."

"So I take it you like the place then?" he waved his hand in the air, gesturing at the entire café.

"Yes, it's very . . .cozy." I replied. Eric scuffed at my words and gestured for the barista to make another round for us.

"So how did you find this place? I've been living here a few years and never even heard of it."

"I'm one of those guys that sees something he's interested in and checks it out. I was driving through here a few months ago and found it and tried it out. Next thing I knew I was here every night."

"Every night? Drinking things like this?" I asked, raising my almost empty mug.

"Not just to drink, they have performances from local bands, artists, poets, and real artsy people every night. They're really entertaining and interesting, but mostly I come for the environment." he added.

"Is anyone performing tonight?"

"Later. I know the performer, I could introduce you to him." he suggested.

"Oh no, you don't need to. I just want to see everything." I said with a small smile, "So how did the rest of the house showing go?"

"Absolutely boring since you left. It went to shit."

"I doubt that."

"It's true." Eric replied, leaning forward, "I was so bored after you left that I could barely keep my eyes open when I talked to the idiots."

"I didn't even do anything." I said, rolling my eyes at him, "I just went to watch you work."

"True, but after you left I lost my inspiration to show off." he grinned.

"Inspiration? What am I now . . .some realtor muse?" I laughed.

"You are to me."

"Right . . ." I dragged out, looking at the stage that was being prepared, or rather, on the brink of being finished.

"So did you really leave because you had to go?" Eric asked. In the low light I could hardly see his face, only his glistening eyes and the blonde hair that seemed to sparkle from the candle light. However, I could still tell that something was different, his entire atmosphere had changed in an instant. He was relaxed, his body slouched and he brooded over the table; it made me wonder if that was how Eric really was, the completely relaxed café guy.

"Of course." I answered. "Did you think there was some other reason?" before he could answer, the small chatter of the room was interrupted by a static tap reverberating off the walls from the microphone. Eric looked over his shoulder toward the stage and stood up, taking both the mugs with him.

"I'll be back." he said, I nodded and continued to look at the stage. The man that had just tapped the microphone sat down on a small stool, bongo drums resting on his lap. He adjusted the microphone that was in front of his drums and have the drum a small tap, making sure that the microphone picked up the sound, which it did. I released a deep breath and relaxed in my comfortable seat, waiting for the show to start. A waitress came by with another mug of that amazing liquid that I just savored and set it before me along with a straw. I cupped my hands around the mug and absorbed the warmth.

_Café Ardor could possibly be my new favorite place, _I thought. The people around me started clapping when the lights shut off completely and the spot lights came on; the only light that illuminated the room were the two bright lights pointing at the man with the drums and the empty stool next to him. The light was bright enough that it just barely grazed my face, it made me think that if I could barely see anything where I was sitting, then the people behind me couldn't see a damn thing and were in complete darkness. I leaned forward on the table, perching my elbows on the edge, but still in hand.

It could be said that I was completely and utterly relaxed at that moment, seeing as all my senses were overwhelmed by the atmosphere; however, my chest started to burn and my body tensed slightly when I watched Eric walk onto the stage, an acoustic guitar in hand, waving out to the audience. Claps and whistles of approval erupted around me. Eric smiled and sat down, taking a very long glance in my direction as he put the strap over his head and around his neck, setting the guitar comfortably on his lap, ready to play.

"I didn't know he played guitar." I whispered to myself, drinking my liquid fire.

"How's everybody doing tonight?" he asked. The audience replied variations of "good" and "great". "Awesome. Well . . .I know It's been a while since I played here last, so that's why a wrote a new song." clapping and whistling became relentless at his words.

_Is he like a celebrity here or something? _I thought.

"This past week has been really crazy for me," he continued, "I met someone who . . .umm, is a real piece of work." he gave a stressed laugh followed by a smile, the audience did the same.

"I am not a piece of work, you piece of shit." I said to myself, "How can he say that about me in front of all these people? He's going to get it." I scowled at him from across the room.

"But I'll stop talking and let the song speak for itself." he said. The audience clapped again, save me, then became silent so that he could begin. The bongo drums started in a very soft and jazz like rhythm. A few seconds in Eric started playing, following along with the soft and jazz like rhythm of the drums. He wasn't using a pick to strum, instead he was plucking the strings individually, creating unique and relaxing sounds. I could feel myself being carried away by the music, swaying to it, listening to the beauty of it as well as the simplicity. Then he started singing.

_The meaning of the feeling_

_That comes upon me when you're looking at me_

_And the scent I've left behind_

_For something else, there's a different feeling_

_How when you're eyes are still closed but you can still see everything_

_I wonder if your whole entire day_

_Was still beautiful without me_

I was completely and utterly awestruck, no wonder why the women were constantly swooning over him. Eric's voice was like John Mayers, simply beautiful and memorizing if he sang the right song, and Eric was singing the right song. As he sang and paid attention to the lyrics, and felt them hover over me and tingle my skin. But the pit of my stomach started to cringe, my heart began pounding uncontrollably and the faintest perspiration began to show on my forehead. I shook my head, pushing the memories away and listened to the music, to the sound of the guitar; calming myself down before I ran out.

_What makes me cry_

_Of having to break up with you_

_Don't speak of such sad things_

_So that you and me alone_

_Can remain in this beautiful state_

_In this world_

_My days and your nights_

_Oversee a similar ending_

_Baby lover, let's close our eyes together_

_Give it up give it up, _the drummer sang quickly

_Can you see the light, _Eric sang in a whisper like tone and looked directly at me with the most undeterred expression that I felt embarrassed while he sang and smiled at me.

_Give it up give it up, _the drummer sand again

_There ain't no on here. _Eric sang again, still keeping his eyes on me.

Give it up give it up

It's our only way

Can you see the light in me

Give it up give it up

Don't be scared Love

Give it up give it up

There'll be a song for you

Give it up give it up

Let the flowers rejoice

Can you see the light in me

I was in a daze, along with every other woman in the room, but it was a different daze; it wasn't the typical admiration and desire that most women had in their eyes, it was the surprised and curious daze that made me want to know more. Perhaps it was the way the light hit him, illuminating his already beautiful features, or his voice that wounded like angle wings after a disaster, or the sound of the guitar that filled me with sheer . . .something . . .on the inside. It filled me with bliss, mellow, unmarred bliss. But I was mesmerized. In that moment I was completely and utterly engulfed in all that was Eric Northman. I didn't want it to end, I wanted to stay frozen in time, listening to his voice, his guitar, filling the air like water after a long drought.

When I heard the final pluck of the string and the sound of the audiences clapping surround me, I knew it was over, the water after the drought was gone and I was still thirsty for more. . .I felt . . .unsatisfied. Which was a first for me. Eric waved at the audience and set the guitar on the stand before disappearing behind the curtain. It was only moments later that I saw him again, mug in hand with the same fire liquid, sitting in front of me.

"What did you think?" he asked, clearing his throat. His voice became more course, which I assumed the singing could be blamed for that. It took me a second to register what he said, I was still in a trance, listening to his voice and guitar in my heard like a film.

"It was alright," I grimaced, pushing my empty mug away while shrugging my shoulders. I was going to admit to him that I was impressed, very impressed at that.

"Alright?" Eric scuffed, "I wrote that song for you." he said, thinking that it would make my response any different.

"Am I supposed to be flattered?" I asked, "You probably do this for every girl you meet."

"I haven't done it for any actually," he said, slouching back in his seat and kicking his right leg out from under the table so that he was in a relaxed position, "you're the first."

I bit my bottom lip to keep from smiling and looked at the ceiling; my chest was burning again. I ignored the temptation of rubbing it and grabbed my jacket from behind the chair. "This was . . .fun, I guess." I said as I put my jacket on.

"Are you leaving?" Eric asked, his voice shrouded in alarm.

"There's something I have to do in the morning." I replied, buttoning up my jacket before pushing my chair back and standing up; Eric stood up as I did.

"Can't you stay a little longer?" he asked, grabbing his jacket as he followed me out of the café.

"I don't want to." I lied. Sorta. It wasn't much of a lie, but it also was. I did want to stay, but I thought that if I stayed I would get too close to the man I was little by little starting to tolerate. So I thought it would be best if I left before anything went any further, or before I could make a fool of myself.

"Now you're giving me the cold shoulder?" he chided, following briskly behind me in the cold air and slick street. I hadn't realized it, but it had started raining as soon as I arrived at Café Ardor; by the time I left it turned into a light sprinkle.

"I have shit to do. Get over it." I snapped at him. Now he was starting to annoy me.

"We all have shit to do, Harley." I could tell by the huskiness in his voice that he was getting angry, "But I would like to do shit with you."

"Well I don't want to do shit with you. So go back in there and play your guitar." I barked back, glaring at him even though he couldn't see it because he was walking behind me. It amazed me how quickly he could aggravate me, but it was the first time that I ever saw Eric get even a smidge upset at me or at anything. The moment he grabbed me by the elbow and whirled me around, almost causing me to slip until he caught me just as quickly as he turned me, I knew that I had pushed a button.

"Why don't you like me?" Erics voice was stern and his expression hard as a rock when he asked the question. For the briefest millisecond I was frozen with fear; however, I regained myself and my composure.

"I never said I didn't." I answered.

"Then why do you do shit like this?"

"Like what?" I asked, not understanding.

"Like that stunt you just tried to pull; we start having a good time, then you make some excuse to leave."

"They are not excuses." I corrected, "They are legitimate reasons."

"Bullshit."

"Bullshit?" I hissed at Eric, pushing him hard enough that he stumbled back a few feet, "I know what I want out of life, Eric. And I'm trying my damnd'est to get it."

"You expect me to believe that?" he asked with a laugh, "You expect me to believe that every time you run away it's about your career?"

"I do not run away." I retorted.

"Yes you do. And this," he gestured both of us, "this is the reason why. You're scared of this, of what could happen between us."

"That already happened, Eric." I chided.

"I'm not talking about sex." Eric closed the distance between us as the subtle rain gradually became heavier. Umbrellas covering heads surrounded us as the sidewalk began to fill with people again, leaving us as the only two people, unmoving, soaking wet, in the middle of the sidewalk. "You're afraid that this will go farther than you'll want, that you'll have feelings for me, that we'll become something and end up on your face in the mud. That's what your running from, Harley: that fear that you're gonna fall for me and I'm gonna break your heart . . .tell me I'm wrong." he challenged. My chest started burning again. I wiped my hand across my face, getting the water that was making me blind out of my eyes and looked at him.

"You're right." I yelled through the pouring rain and thunder. Erics hardened expression softened, but not into satisfaction, which was what I expected. I thought that he would feel gratification from hearing me say that he was right, that I was afraid of our relationship becoming more than it already was, but it wasn't like that at all, instead, it seemed like he didn't register that I had just admitted what I was afraid of-he didn't expect that. "But it's that way with every guy I meet." I added, "I don't trust people, Eric. Ever since I was a little girl I never trusted people . . .because you never know what they're capable of. I live life the only way I know how to, by going after what I want and doing everything on my own, and you, you're not like that. You're the complete opposite of me . . .and I don't trust that at all."

"You don't know me." Eric said, his expression soft, yet sullen.

"And you don't know me." I replied, "You never should have approached me at the Pub."

"I don't regret that." he said, "I don't regret meeting the uptight, stubborn, arrogant, self-righteous lawyer that keeps her guard up all the time. Sure you may piss me off, but I've never regretted meeting you. If I could go back in time I would still make the same choices, I would still approach you, I would still walk you home, I would still show up at your office the next day, I would still give you that spa gift basket with the note inside. I don't regret anything that I have done with you, Harley."

It felt like I was in a scene of a movie, like The Notebook. That scene where Noah and Allie just got off the river and onto the dock because of the rain, and just as she was about to run into the house, she asks Noah why he never wrote her. They spill out their hearts on that dock in the rain, completely consumed by one another until it's overwhelming, and they make love. That's what being there with Eric felt like in that moment . . .overwhelming and consuming.

"Did you really write that song for me?" I asked.

"Yes."

"I lied when I said it was alright." water began to pool into my eyes, and it wasn't because of the rain.

"I know."

"It was actually really really good," tears mixed with rain as they fell down my cheek, and I was more than glad that it was raining so that Eric couldn't tell, but none of that mattered. Before I could say anything else, that last foot between us was closed as Eric took my hand and pulled me into him, taking his other hand and cupping my face before pressing his lips to mine. It was tender, heartbreaking, reassuring, and dangerous all at once; my emotions were flying everywhere and I still couldn't grasp everything, I didn't want him, but I did at the same time. I felt a mitigated version of love and hate for him, but when he kissed me all thoughts of that went away; I didn't know Eric, but when he kissed me like that, I felt that I knew everything about him, that he didn't need to explain anything or tell me how he felt . . .it was all there.

When Eric pulled away, there was no gentle tug on my bottom lip, only his breath against mine and his thumb running across my cheek, whizzing the hidden tears away.

"Let's get out of here before you get sick." he said, taking my hand in his before leading me down the sidewalk.


	5. Erics House

**A/N: Thank you everyone who has been reading and reviewing so far, I really appreciate it. But i'm gonna try to start this new thing. I typically have three chapters already written when i post one, so what i would like is for 8 review. Got it? 8 reviews before i post the next one, and i promise that things are gonna get pretty interesting from here on out. So please review at least 8 times so i can get the next chapter out as quickly as possible and not leave you waiting. Thanks so much! **

***** aznduddet**

I watched Eric as he placed the key into the lock of his glass house; I knew that he was well off, but I didn't think that he made that much money. He gave me a reassuring smile before pushing the door open with the pads of his fingers, gesturing for me to go in. I scurried past him and started to unbutton my jacket, immediately welcomed by the warmth of his house. I didn't hear the door close behind me as I entered the living room, which was something I could only dream I had. From where I stood, there was a large white leather sofa in the shape of a rectangular U against the wall, with a glass small triangular table in front of it on top of a small plush white carpet. Across from it was a twenty inch flat screen mounted on a small wall made specifically for the t.v. with two large speakers next to it. To the left of the sofa was a magnificent black and white scenic picture that complimented the room and just under it was a beautiful fireplace.

"This is your house?" I asked, looking over my shoulder at Eric.

"Yes, is it not what you expected?" he asked with a grin as he took off his jacket.

"Not at all." I was expecting a bachelor pad, or some make-shift college dorm, not a beautifully designed house that made me feel ashamed for not putting so much effort into making my condo look decent. Eric tugged at the collar of my jacket, gesturing for me to take it off; I slipped it off and he took it easily going to a different room and disappearing for a moment, only to come back with a pile of folded clothes in his hands.

"The shower is down the hall to your right, you can wear these until your clothes dry." he said giving me the clothes. "Just leave your wet clothes by the door and I'll wash them." he smiled.

"Alright . . ." I wavered as I took the close from him; he had given me a large gray t-shirt and with similar large black shorts, "Are these yours?" I asked.

"Yeah," he looked at me curiously, "Why? Do you not want them? I could get you a robe?" he offered.

"No, no, no, these are fine. I'll just wait for my clothes to dry then be on my way." I smiled, leaving as quickly as possible and gunning for the bathroom before he could say anything else. I closed the bathroom door eagerly behind me and pressed my back against it. My heart was pounding like Road Runner, and my chest was burning; it felt so awkward being around him and speaking. The ride to his house was a silent one, neither of us said a word and the radio wasn't on, so all we could listen to was the rain-it's not like we wanted to say anything anyway, I couldn't say anything if someone offered me a million dollars, the atmosphere had become entirely different.

I shook my head vigorously to shake the feeling away and set the clothes on the counter. I started the shower, trying to figure it out before I took my clothes off; I hated those scenarios when you take a shower in someone else's house and get naked, just to realize you don't know how to turn the damn shower on and have to ask the owner for help. I was not going to put myself in that situation, especially with Eric. I got the water hot enough so that it would warm my core temperature, but not melt my skin off and pulled my drenched top from me. It wasn't until I had my shoes off and started removing my pants that the door was not made out of wood, it was made out of glass. Fuck. My. Life. The glass door had various sized rectangular designs that reminded me of Tetrus, so if someone looked through they could only see parts of the person inside, depending on how they were standing. I pulled my pants back up, fastening the button and zipping them before going to the door, cracking it open just enough so that I could peer down the hall. There was nothing. There was no Eric.

I released a sigh of relief and closed the door again, stripping off my soaked clothes and wrapping a towel snug around me before opening the door one last time, putting my clothes off to the side by the wall. I carefully stepped into the shower, throwing the towel over the top so it couldn't get wet, and stood under the water, palms pressed flat against the wall, head hanging, my cold hair becoming warmer by the second.

* * *

><p>ERICS POV:<p>

I went down the hall quietly, listening for the sound of running water before I kneeled down to grab Harleys clothes; as I did so, I caught a glimpse of her through the door. Her smooth creamy back was arched as she combed her fingers through her hair, her nice small round ass stuck out, and her breasts, her glorious bountiful breasts bounced slightly as she whipped her head from one side to the other, washing behind her ears. My pants became tighter around my prominent hardness as I gulped at the sight of her, watching her, desiring her while she unknowingly displayed herself to me.

She turned around, showing me her backside, and that was when I left, gripping the clothes while trying to adjust my sweat pants. I threw them in the washer and put in the detergent and fabric softener, closed the door and put it on the quick cycle; which wouldn't be quick enough, Harley needed to get out of my house before I fucked her into next week. I released a haggard breath and collected myself, going to the kitchen and grabbing a water bottle from the fridge before nearly choking on it when a still wet Harley, who was in MY t-shirt and black basketball shorts drying her hair with MY towel. I practically came on myself.

"Ummm, thanks for this." she said tensely, throwing the towel over her shoulder before combing her fingers through her hair.

"No problem, I don't want you to get sick." I gestured for her to give me the towel, easily hiding the husky desire in my voice. She handed it to me, just barely, and I threw it in the laundry before returning to the kitchen. "Are you hungry? Or thirsty?" I asked.

"No, I'm fine." she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself and looking around the kitchen.

"Yeah right." I replied, "I'll make you some tea and I have some artisan bread with this new hazelnut butter I got from this lady at the market. She said it's good so I'll just whip that up."

Harley nodded tensely before turning around and going to the living room. I put water in the tea kettle and set it on the stove while I turned on the oven and put the bread on a cookie sheet and set it inside. I briskly went over to the closet next to the door and grabbed the thickest blanket, handing it to Harley who took it hesitantly. What the hell was going on with her? I brushed it off and set the fireplace, set it ablaze with ease and pushing the embers around until Harley sat next to me.

"I didn't know you played the guitar." Harley said, looking into the pit; I changed from my squat to a comfortable sitting position with one leg extended out and the other bent up.

"It's not like we've had much time to talk." I replied.

"Or talked about much." she added with a softest laugh possible. The way the light from the fire was hitting her face was beautiful; the shadows dancing across her face, the flickering in her gorgeous eyes, the faint glimmer on her lips. I wanted to taste her lips again, I wanted to taste all of her. I would be completely content for the rest of my life if I could kiss every surface of her body, feeling her warmth and softness. The hardness in my pants was becoming unbearable and I tried my hardest not to adjust it, because that would make things really uncomfortable.

"My father played." she said abruptly, still looking into the flames, "He was really good too. I can remember when I was a little girl whenever I would have a bad day or a nightmare he would come into my room with a cup of hot coco and play a song for me. Something like what you played today. And he would keep playing until I wasn't upset or scared anymore."

"Was it his career? Playing the guitar?" I asked.

"No, he was like you, just always interested in things and checked them out. But he was always a sucker for guitars, even though he couldn't play and didn't have the slightest clue about them, he always wanted to play. So it goes without saying that once he picked up one, that was all he focused on; when he had it in his hands it was just him and the guitar . . .him and the sounds." her eyes started the glisten and glaze over slightly.

"What about you? Did he teach you?" I asked.

"Yeah. But he hated teaching me, he wasn't very patient, but he always looked forward to the day where we would be able to play together; be in complete harmony." I took this opportunity to go to the closet and grab my case; I pulled out my guitar and sat back down, holding it out to Harley.

"Play something for me." I smiled.

"No, I cant." she smiled back, waving the guitar away.

"Sure you can." I reassured, still holding it out to her, "You can't be that bad." I teased.

"I can't, Eric." she pressed.

"Harley you don't need to be nervous." I said, taking her hand and making her grasp the neck.

"I told you I cant!" she screamed, jerking her hand away. Her breathing became heavy, her chest heaved up and down, her eyes were erratic as she looked everywhere and no where at the same time. I felt bad for pressuring her into doing it and set the guitar down beside me, out of sight from her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to push you."

"I can't play," she repeated, her voice constricting, "I cant . . .I can't even touch a guitar."

"Why?" I asked hesitantly, my voice turning into a whisper. Harley bit her bottom lip, causing her chin to jut forward; I knew she was debating whether or not to tell me, but I desperately wished she would tell me.

"My father died when I was twelve. The last time I played was at his funeral . . .it was a song that I wrote for him. I haven't touched a guitar since." Shit. I was not expecting that; it seemed like every effort I made resulted in some sort of horrible memory, her past colliding with her future. I sure as hell didn't want that to happen, especially since I was spending time with her more, and I couldn't take her crying, it just made me feel like a dick.

"You shouldn't be afraid to play because of the memories of him," I whispered, looking at her while she continued to look at the fire, "You should play to honor his memory. If he was half the man you say he was, then he wouldn't want you to stop playing. He wouldn't want you to stop because he is no longer here. Instead of feeling hurt from the loss of him when you play, you should remember the happiness that filling a room with music brought to him, brought to both of you. I saw the way you looked when you listened to me play, Harley." I grabbed her legs and turned her around so she was facing me; she looked at the ground then to me. "When you listened to the music, to the sounds, I watched what it did to you. It stirred something deep inside you, a pleasure . . .a happiness that you've been suppressing all these years. You were at ease, you were at peace with yourself and completely allowed yourself to be taken on a journey. And that is what music is: an emotional, spiritual, physical journey, and I know your father taught you that."

"It's not that easy." she said, dropping her eyes.

"Anything worth doing is never easy."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. Just-just leave it alone." Harley turned back around and looked into the fire, but I could tell that she still wanted to talk; and she did. "You don't talk about yourself that much." she stated as an observation I assumed, which was true, I didn't like talking about myself. Not with everything that was going on in my life and the complications of it. But I wasn't going to tell her that.

"You never ask." I answered.

"Where are you from?" she asked, which surprised me since I was never asked that question in my life.

"Why do you ask?" I was curious now, perhaps it was her lawyer intuition that gave me away, she was just waiting for the right opportunity to ask.

"Because no one is ever from L.A.. Everyone flocks here; so, where are you from?"

"Well if you look at it that way," I nodded as I contemplated what she said. Harley was right, L.A. was pretty much a melting pot of cultures, the biggest next to New York. "I'm from a small town in Kentucky."

"So you're a country boy." she grinned, "I knew there was a twang to your voice."

"I'm no redneck now," I shot back teasingly, leaning back against the side of the couch next to her. My arm grazed hers as I adjusted myself and she flinched just barely from the contact. "I may be a country boy, but I was raised right by my mama."

"What happened?" she teased, wondering where the supposed gentleman my mother raised had disappeared to.

"He's still in there, somewhere. But he only comes out when she's around."

"So why'd you leave?"

"I got tired. We lived on a farm that was founded by my great great great great grandfather in the 1700s, I was next in line to take it since I was the oldest of five; two brothers, three sisters. But I didn't want it."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to be different. I didn't want to be the next farmer in the family with ten kids, up to his neck in debt, struggling to keep the house afloat. My father knew that too, and that's why he pushed me to fallow in his footsteps." I angled myself toward Harley, receiving her full attention; I could tell that she was utterly engrossed in what I was telling her, and it might have fascinated her even. "My father is an extremely traditional man. He believes your supposed to be married by the time you reach twenty-five, have two kids, go to church every Sunday, respect and do whatever your parents say, take care of them when they get old, and above all, take care of the farm. In our family, if you did that then you would be his favorite child."

"That's a lot of pressure." she grimaced.

"You have no idea. When I turned twenty-four you could only imagine how my father was. He felt that I had disappointed him, that I had tainted the family name because I wasn't married or didn't have kids; so when I told him I had no intention on taking the farm after him he was in pure rage. I told him I wanted to get out of Kentucky and live in L.A., after that he disowned me."

"He disowned you?" she barked in disbelief.

"With my dad it's his way or no way at all; I didn't like his way so I left. I had some money saved up, packed up all my stuff, got a bus to L.A., started working at this fish market, making ten bucks an hour, I was doing alright considering that I never been a mile away from home, let alone a thousand." I chuckled.

"That's crazy. That took some serious guts to leave like that."

"Well you got guts to," I shoved her lightly, causing her to sway back and forth, "being a big shot lawyer with all the swine in this city, I know you've gotten a few death threats." I grinned.

"That would be an understatement." she smiled. "I'm working this case right, it's kind of a family feud amongst drug dealers. I've gotten quite a few threats already; it's really stupid."

"Tell me about it; the case."

"There isn't much to tell, for confidentiality purposes mostly, but I don't think this case is everything that it seems to be."

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

"Because the victim I'm supposed to be defending; I don't think he's a victim."

"Why?" I listened intently as she spoke.

"He was already dirty to start with when the cops found him, and there a holes in his story, well of what I know. But I think there is more to what's really going on. You have fourteen guys in a room, now supposedly there is this big shoot out, twelve of them die and the cousins walk away without a scratch, completely unharmed, not a single drop of blood on them. Now that doesn't make sense."

"What do you think it means?"

"Well, either both of them were laminated, which I highly doubt . . .or they never had any intention of hurting each other or of being a part of that shoot out."

"You think they set up those other guys?" I asked.

"I think it's a possibility." she sighed, "I have some friends from the FBI going over it personally, the police men here can't investigate for shit. If there is more to this case than meets the eye then they'll find out."

"You're really good at what you do." I said, it wasn't a question.

"I have to be, it's the only way I'll get paid." she laughed. There was a brief moment of silence and in that moment I just watched her. Harleys eyes continued to flicker as she watched the flames dance in the pit, her skin glowed and I could feel the warmth radiating from her, the corner of her lips were turned up in the faintest smile that I could hardly notice with just a glance. Her long wavy dark brown hair that I was used to seeing in a bun or ponytail was soft and smooth. She looked calm for the first time that I met her, her mind wasn't going a million miles an hour, analyzing everything, and she wasn't trying to B-line it to my front door. I scooted a little closer to her, but she didn't seem to notice; my shoulder was pressed against hers.

"So you know I have to ask," I said looking down at her.

"Ask what?" she didn't look at me.

"Why you're giving me such a hard time." I grinned, but she continued to look into the fire place.

"I'm giving you a hard time?" she asked with a laugh.

"Of course you are; got me chasing after you in the pouring rain, running out on me during a showing, threatening to call the police because I 'supposedly' raped you, threw away the spa gift I gave you. You have been nothing but a pain in my ass." I teased.

"Well if I'm such a pain why don't you just give up?" she suggested.

"Because I like a challenge." I smirked.

"Typical." she replied.

"Seriously though, why have you been acting like you're not interested, when it is very obvious you are?"

"I never said I was interested." she snapped back.

"Sure you are, I ask you to come to my house showing, you come. I ask you to meet me at Café Ardor, you come, I lead you to my house, you don't resist. It seems to me that you are very interested in me." I grinned.

"So what if I did all those things? That doesn't mean I'm interested in you . . .in that way. I could mean that I am in painful process of getting to know you."

"Could?" I asked, meaning that she wasn't entirely sure of what exactly she was doing with me. I knew what she was doing; however, to her she was stubborn to the entire possibility of us being more than friends.

"You know what I mean," she nudged her shoulder against mine, "I know I come off as a tight-ass and stubborn, I've been told countless times, but . . . that's just who I am."

"Well you have good reason, after all you are a lawyer. If every lawyer was easy going and frolicking through pastures of wild flowers and berries then no one would be in prison." I teased.

"That is very true," she agreed with a smile, "but I'm trying to loosen up. I don't think it's healthy for someone to be engulfed in their work, and it took a smack in the face from a friend for me to realize that. Not literally anyways. My friend didn't actually smack me." she corrected herself.

"I could smack you around a few times; set you strait with some of that country boy lovin'." before she could say anything I wrapped my arms around her waist and hoisted her onto my lap until she was straddling me, holding her hips firmly so should would stay in place.

"Fucking, Eric, let me go," she objected, trying to pull her leg from around me, "I'm getting cold."

"That's what I'm here for." I grinned.

"I am serious asshole, let me go or else I'll bite your face off." she started beating at my chest with her tiny fists, which didn't phase me one bit, it's not like it even hurt.

"Kitty got claws." I teased. I grabbed both her hands and set them firmly on either shoulder, unconsciously causing her to lean forward so that our faces were just inches apart. Silence.

"Are you gonna let me go?" she whispered, glancing from my eyes to my lips.

"Not a chance." I whispered, carefully releasing her hands as I leaned forward, grazing my fingertips along her jaw line. Our lips were close, brushing against each other like ghosts, but not actually touching. I could feel her shuttering over me while her right hand rested loosely on my left shoulder and the other skimmed the triceps of my right arm. She wasn't going to make a move, she wouldn't take the risk of making herself look like a fool, even though I made my intentions very clear. But yet she was still hesitant, as if she didn't trust herself, the idea of "us", which I still couldn't wrap my mind around as to why she was so afraid of someone getting close. Yes there was the trust issue, but the reason behind it was still a mystery to me; however, I planned on finding out.

Harleys breathing became short and haggard, practically inaudible, as I pressed my lips to hers with the utmost gentleness - I had to take things slow with her, that I knew from the beginning. I cupped her face and leaned her back slightly, causing her to open her mouth just enough for me to stealthily slip my tongue in. Her eyes fluttered closed as she allowed me to take her, giving me complete control as my tongue massaged hers, as my lips caressed hers; my fingers tangled in her soft hair and her hands slid up my chest and gripped the collar of my shirt.

Fuck she smelt amazing, even though it was a typical body wash that she had used it smelt wonderful on her, and the close proximity of our bodies: her supple breasts that I had seen just moments ago rubbing against my chest, her beautiful ass on my lap that I was just itching to grab, her arched back that I had every intention of seeing when she was on all fours; just imagining me taking Harley from behind made me even harder and it made me wonder if she could feel my erection.

I was trying my damnedest to go slow and be easy on her when all I wanted to do was rip my clothes off of her and take her on my white carpet next to the fireplace; however, I kept myself in check every time the urge arose, but as soon as she licked my bottom lip and captured it between her teeth and pulled lightly, I was gone. All gentleness, consciousness went out the window and the pure primal lust that raged in me screamed in my head "Fuck her." and I mean hard. My hands that cupped her face traveled every where, but in particular, her breasts and ass. I squeezed both firmly, eliciting a moan that I engulfed with the lust driven animal kiss. It was the most beautiful sound in the world. I would die a happy man to that sound a million times over, but I wanted more, I wanted to hear her moan again, her here say my name.

And just my fucking luck it came to a screeching halt when Harley jumped from surprise when the engine like whistle from the kettle shattered the intimate moment that had us heaving for air; completely destroying the mood. After, Harleys mood shifted all together. She looked at me, wide eyed, like she did when she saw me in her bed that day and realized I was naked, and pressed her hands against my chest to help her stand up.

"Sorry, I have to go." I started, fixing her hair and adjusting the giant shirt I had given her. She stepped over me and headed for the closet where I put our coats. I jumped to my feet and stayed hot on her heels, never giving her that much space, always right at her back.

"Don't be like this. We were having a good time, then that fucking kettle," which I suddenly remembered and rushed to take it off the stove before going right back to her..

She laughed, "The kettle had nothing to do with it." Harley put on her jacket and pulled her hair out of the collar.

"Yes it did. Come on, Harley, stay here tonight. I have plenty of bedrooms you can choose from. And if it makes you feel better, I promise I will keep my hands off you . . .or at least I'll try to." I grinned, but she wouldn't look at me.

"It's not that."

"Then what is it?" Harley looked around the room then went to the kitchen and found what she was looking for: her wallet and phone. "So now you're gonna ignore me?" I asked, no response. She started to button up her jacket and it wasn't until that moment that I realized she was really going to leave. She was going to leave me with my stupid tea kettle and raging hard on that Jesus himself could not get rid of. "Harley come on, stay tonight. You can stay in a guest bedroom; besides, it's late and it's storming outside." I gestured to my window where the obvious thunder and lightening was.

"I'll get a cab." she replied, fastening the last button on the bottom. "I'll just see you around." she smiled before reaching for the door and opening it. I pressed my hand against it firmly, causing it to close.

"You're not going anywhere, not in this weather."

"I'm a big girl, Eric. I can take care of myself." she shot back trying to open the door again, but I kept it in place.

"I didn't say you weren't. It's almost one in the morning and it's storming; you're staying here tonight." my voice was stern and she stepped back slightly, perhaps from the sudden change in it. I brought my face closer to hers, staying at eye level. "So get comfortable." I locked the countless bolts on my door and led her to a guest bedroom, the one closest to mine, and left her there, in hopes of calming down my pulsating erection that always seemed to emerge when we had arguments.

* * *

><p><strong>I hope you enjoyed that, i'm trying to mix it up a little with Eric's point of view; new yet refreshing. So again please give 8 REVIEWS and I will give you another chapter! I'm looking forward to them. Thanks for reading and reviewing!<strong>


	6. The Prison

"I'm not going to ask you again Antonio, what happened?" I asked for the final time. I had spent the last hour trying to convince Antonio Ballasteros to tell me what happened that night in the hotel room, just how his finger prints ended up on two unregistered hidden firearms, twelve people were found dead, and how the police found him with a gun to his cousins head. I was pulling out everything on him; I was not going to loose a case that could make or break my career because he wanted to pretend to be deaf.

"Okay, okay, I'll tell you!" he put his hands up defensively. I finally sat down, hoping that he would tell me what I wanted to hear.

"Alright then, tell me." I gestured for him to start.

He licked his lips and rolled his eyes, "That day, I got a call from Victor, he said he wanted to meet up with me at the hotel at nine."

"Why?" I asked.

"We got into an argument. Victor wanted me to help expand his . . .business," Antonio said, but I knew he meant Victors drug trafficking, "but I wanted nothing to do with it. After that he kept saying how I was to good for him just because I went to college, that I thought that I was better than him, that I didn't give a shit about him. But it wasn't true. I just didn't want to get caught up in his games."

"When did you guys have this argument?"

"A few months after he moved here from Brazil. And since then."

"When did he call you that day?"

"At around ten in the morning."

"Why did he want to meet up with you?" I asked.

"He said he wanted to apologize and that he felt bad for everything he said. Victor wanted to make it up to me and told me to meet him at the hotel."

"Didn't you find it odd that Victor wanted to meet you at a hotel and not at your house or his house?"

"Nah," Antonio smirked, remembering something, "because of what he does I'm used to meeting him at shady places. It didn't surprise me at all when he said it."

"Alright, so what happened once you got to the hotel?"

"Victor told me what room number and got someone to send me the key to the room,"

"Who was it?" I interrupted.

"I don't know. It was someone Victor knew I didn't know him, he just gave me the key and left." he answered.

"Go on."

"I got to the hotel around nine and waited for him. He came at about twenty minutes later and he starting talking, apologizing to me and saying that he didn't mean to pressure me and all that bullshit. Next thing I know, there's a knock on the door, Victor answers it, and these twelve guys come in."

"Did you know any of them?"

"No. They started talking to Victor and yelling at him, telling him to give them their money. Then Victor started saying how he gave it to one of the guys there to give it to the other guys, but the first guy said that he never got anything. It was just a shit pile of lies. Next thing I know is guns start coming out and popping off; then Victor pulls out his and points it at me screaming that I got the money. Guys start coming at me; I didn't know what the fuck to do so I grabbed a gun from this dead dude on the floor and start shooting. I look around and Victors trying to run for the door but I grab him by the collar and through the mother fucker on the floor and put the gun to his face. That's when the cops came."

"That's why you think Victor set you up? Because he told these thugs that you had their money?"

"Yeah, besides how the fuck would they know where he was unless he told them. As far I knew he didn't tell anyone that he was meeting up with me."

"Well I guess we'll never know unless Victor gives a confession. But that still doesn't explain how your prints were on two unregistered firearms that were hidden in the room."

"Those weren't mine, I swear. Victor must have got 'em and put my prints on 'em and stashed them before I got there."

"That doesn't seem likely to me."

"I'm telling you that they were not mine, damnit!" he slammed his hand down on the metal table, the sound reverberating through the small room. "You're my fucking lawyer, you're supposed to believe what the fuck I say!"

"Well I don't believe it, Antonio! Do you think Victors lawyer is gonna go easy on you? No, he's gonna be twice as hard on you, he's gonna try to break you. Do you think the Jury is going to believe this shit? Once they hear about the guns and that you don't have an explanation for it they are gonna think that you are tried to kill Victor and he's gonna walk while you go to prison for attempted murder. Get. Your. Story. Strait."

Antonio stood up in a rage, thrusting the table forward with a forceful push before pacing the floor.

"I wasn't going to kill him, I just wanted him to think I was." his pace quickened, along with his breathing as his hands balled into fight fists, causing them to turn a faint shade of red.

"Why?" I asked, standing up.

"Because he put a fucking hit on my girl! He threatened to kill her if I didn't help him out."

"What did he want you to help him with?"

"Getting drugs into Peru and Argentina. He was dealing all over South America, but he couldn't get those two countries.

"Why would he want you to help him, Antonio?"

"Because I know people down there. A few years back I went through this traveling phase and went up and down South America. Victor said all I would have to do was help him out just once and he'd let her go. So I said yes, that I'd help him, and that's when he wanted to meet up and apologize."

I took a moment to digest what my client had just said to me. Perhaps he wasn't who I thought he was, maybe Victor truly did set him up. Either way, I would have to look into it more because I still had a weak case. If I didn't handle it properly, the press and jury could blow it up in my place.

"So that's when you went to the hotel early and hid the guns."

"Yes." Antonio answered calmly as he came down from his high. "I swear I wasn't going to kill him. I just wanted him to leave my girl alone."

"Why couldn't you tell me this to begin with?" I asked.

"Because I know how it fucking looks! Right now all the fingers are pointing at me and my story isn't good enough. Everyone thinks that Victor is the victim."

"We're gonna win this, Antonio." I assured him, "All we need is more evidence against Victor, your girlfriends side of the story confirming what you said, and we're in the clear." I stood up and grabbed my briefcase while gesturing for the guard to let me out. "Don't worry so much," I threw over my shoulder, "I'm good at what I do."

After a strenuous drive from the state prison and went to the police station to tell them what I found out and if they had any other leads. I opened the front door and was immediately greeted by the detectives there, but there was one detective in particular that I sought out: Detective Novak. John Novak was the main detective on the case (Detective Lancer was just my go to guy), if I wanted anything to get done I had to see Novak. I entered the homicide department and found Novak at the see through board with countless pictures and papers tapped on it along with different colored marker writings.

"I just came back from seeing Ballasteros." I said, trying to get his attention as I set my briefcase on a near by desk.

"Is that supposed to mean something?" he asked, still not looking at me but analyzing the board.

"If you want a new lead. Antonio told me that he went to the hotel because Victor wanted to make peace with him after arguing with him for countless months for trying to convince Antonio to help him move drugs into Peru and Argentina." I said, hands on hips waiting for him to turn around. And he did. Novak had a black pen cap in his mouth as always, constantly chewing on it and gave me a quick once over with a scrutinizing eye. He didn't like me, he didn't like lawyers in general, so I never took it personally; not that I really gave a damn.

"He told you all of this?" he asked.

"And more. Victor also wanted to apologize to Antonio for threatening to kill his girlfriend if he didn't help him out."

"What's her name?" Novak asked.

"Kortney Satin. She's living with Antonio's parents."

"They moved in together?"

"Just before Victor came from Brazil."

"What else did the kid tell you?"

"Antonio went to the hotel on time, bringing the two guns and hiding them. He was angry with Victor for threatening Satins life and wanted to scare him; however, he vehemently said he had no intention of killing Victor. Victor arrived twenty minutes later and they talked, then the twelve dead guys come in, demanding Victor for their money that he apparently owed them. Do you think they have anything to do with drug trafficking?" I asked.

"We don't know. We ran their profiles and nothing. A few arrests for robberies, breaking and entering, but nothing very significant."

"Well they had to be from how Antonio described it. Victor apparently became distraught and started blaming other people, then the shoot out started and he told them that Antonio had their money. They started coming at him and Antonio picked up the closest gun and started firing out of self defense."

"We can't prove that he killed them out of self defense. There's no evidence to prove that they harmed him at all." Novak corrected.

"They were coming at him, guns raised, prepared to fire. Antonio felt he was in danger and acted out in self defense. That's argument enough."

"You're gonna need evidence. It won't hold up in court."

"I'm the lawyer, Novak. The jury doesn't need evidence to be convinced; so you do your job and I'll do mine." I snapped back. He rolled his eyes at me in response and went back to the board. "Antonio also told me that Victor tried to make a run for it, but Antonio grabbed him and threw him on the ground before he could get anywhere. That's when the cops arrived."

"We'll see how their stories compare. We haven't been able to interrogate Victor yet, so we'll see what happens."

"Wait, what? You haven't questioned him yet?" I asked, walking up and to Novak and making him look at me.

"His lawyer won't let us be in the same room with him, what are we supposed to do?"

"Find evidence against him and get him the fuck in here; that's what you're supposed to do."

"We have five bullets that match his in the dead victims, but that isn't proof that he tried to set up Antonio. We need hard evidence that Victor premeditated his cousins death. Unless you can pull that out of your ass, you can leave." Novak pointed to the door, biting down on the pen cap.

"It's not my job to find evidence Detective. It's yours. So maybe you should start doing your job and stop wasting my time with excuses." I snapped back, grabbing my suitcase before leaving the station.

* * *

><p><strong>EPOV<strong>

When I woke up to the sound of my phone buzzing from a missed call I could tell that it was late, it wasn't until I looked at the time on my phone that I realized how late it was, just half past twelve. I sat up, my legs hanging over the edge of my bed, my feet touching the cold hard wood floor. I rubbed the sleep away from my eyes and stretched my limbs before standing up and going to the bathroom to take a piss, it amazed me just how much came out of me when I hardly drank anything. Maybe that's too much information. I wasn't until I was washing my face that I remembered Harley had spent the night, and I painstakingly kept my hands to myself. I finished washing my face and brushed my teeth, combing my fingers through my hair as I exited my bedroom and went to the one closest to mine, which was about fifteen feet away. I knocked on the door. Nothing.

"Love?" I asked, knocking again; still nothing. I took the risk of cracking open the door and peaking my head inside. The bed had been perfectly made, my grey t-shirt and black basketball shorts neatly folded at the edge of the bed. Other than that there was no trace that a person had even slept there. I closed the door and checked the guest bathroom with the hopes that she was in there, but to no avail. I went to the laundry room and opened the dryer and, as to my dissatisfaction, they were gone. I released a frustrated sigh and slammed the dryer door close.

"She left without even saying anything." I grumbled whilst heading toward the kitchen. "You would think that she would at least leave a note or something, but then again don't expect anything with Harley, Eric." I grabbed a water bottle, twisted the cap off, and chugged about half of it down. "That's right, don't expect anything from the vixen . . .not even a hand job." I adjusted myself in my sweatpants with a groan, typical morning wood. I was just about to go to my room to get dressed when I smelt something fantastic, stopping me in my tracks. I sniffed the air in exaggeration and found my nose leading me to the counter next to the stove. There was a translucent lid covering something as I made my way over to it, only for me to somewhat disregard what I just told myself about Harley.

Covered by the clear lid was a plate with slices of French toast with powdered sugar on top, along with an omelet with various vegetables and a small bowl of mixed berries. It was a women's meal, not a mans. If it were my way I would have steak, eggs, waffles, fried chicken; nonetheless, the gesture was kind enough. I took the lid off, immediately engulfed by the sweet aroma of the mouth watering food. There was a small folded note next to the plate with my name on it, I opened it quickly, unconsciously hoping for some naughty words or even words of the affection she was adamant on not showing me. I was welcomed with something else altogether:

_**Here's a treat from me to you, Asshole. Enjoy.**_

_**-Harley-**_

I shook my head with a grin when I reached the end of it; the vixen had written a letter similar to the one I had given her along with the spa gift, it intrigued me that she remembered that considering she threw it away. The use of "Asshole" in reference to me displayed a bit of her humor, since she constantly called me one, but also her inability to allow herself to feel anything for me. I frowned at the latter, since we were doing so well last night I considered it a minor breakthrough. "Minor" being the key word. I set the letter down and grabbed a fork from the drawer nearest to me and syrup from one of the upper cabinets, then took a moment to appreciate the meal before me, thinking that I might not get another like it . . .ever, before diving in.

I pulled up outside the police station, watching Harley as she came down the stairs in front of the building. I could tell that things didn't go over well; whenever she was frustrated her lips pressed into a fine line and her eyes stayed fixed on one thing, and at the moment it was the ground. Even when she got off the stairs and reached flat pavement she continued to look at the ground, nearly walking past my car. I honked, turning around so she could see me through my window. She jumped slightly; things must have been really bad, and looked around before eyes landed on me. She sighed and rolled her eyes and sauntered over to my car.

"What are you doing here?" Harley asked as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"I wanted to see you." I smiled looking up at her, which was a struggle since the sun was blinding me and I could only see her silhouette.

"And you just so happened to know I was here?" she gave me a scrutinizing look.

"Isabell told me where you were."

"Of course," she huffed, "Now isn't the best time," she denied me, how predictable.

"It's never a good time with you." I teased, but was also earnest.

"I'm serious. I have to go to the other side of town to talk to another lawyer, I don't have time for this." her voice was cutting and filled with animosity, more so that usual. Something really must have been up. Harley started to walk away again; however, I grabbed her wrist mid-stride before she could get anywhere.

"Let me take you." I offered.

"No. This is business." she replied, twisting her wrist out of my hand.

"Come on. I'm cheaper than I cab; I promise I'll charge you close to nothing!" I grinned.

"Eric," she groaned.

"Just get in." I said, becoming annoyed with her constant reluctance. "I'll drop you off then you can find your own way back if that's what you want." I leaned over to the passenger side and opened the door, gesturing for her to get in. Harley looked around the street, at what I didn't know, but she started chewing on her bottom lip which was unbelievably sexy; I wanted to bite her bottom lip and lick it and suck it and anything else she would let me do. Her chest fell dramatically as she sighed and briskly went to the passenger side of the car, her stilettos clapping against the gravel. She hoped in and set her suitcase down by her legs then closed the door.

"479 Anderson Blvd. Make it quick." she said her eyes fixed on the street in front of us. She really was treating me like a cabbie and for some odd reason I could only think about role playing.

"Alright." I grinned putting my silver Camaro in drive and pulling out into traffic. The drive to Anderson from the police station would be roughly twenty minutes. I knew that because there were a lot of houses in that area being sold, and my name was on most of them so visiting the area was common for me. Harley pulled out her cell phone from her briefcase and dialed a number. It rang for a few moments until a man answered. Who the hell was she calling while she was spending time with me?

"I just left the police station and they told me some very interesting information that I thought you should know." she answered the man. There was a pause. "Apparently Victor has not been questioned yet by them and his attorney has no intention of putting them in the same room together." her lips pressed into a line as she concentrated on what the man was saying.

"I'm on my way to see him now. His name is," she perched the phone on her shoulder to go through her briefcase and pulled out a piece of paper, "Minster, Keith Minster. I'm going to convince him to have Victor questioned." another pause.

"Well he sure as hell won't have Victor questioned if he isn't there, and Victor isn't going to talk strait if Minster is there." pause. "Well isn't there some court order I could get to force Minster and Victor to comply for an official questioning?" pause. "If Minster doesn't agree I can get an arrest warrant for Victor for with holding information during an investigation." pause. "Alright, I'll let you know what happens. Goodbye sir." Harley hung up and slouched into the leather seat.

"Who was that?" I asked, glancing at her.

"My boss. He's being my guide/mentor in all of this." she sighed. She closed her eyes and started to rub her temples with her index finger in a circular motion. It wasn't until that movement that I noticed just how stressed she was, or how stressful her job was. I decided to change the subject since the last thing she would want to talk about would be her case.

"I had no idea you could cook." I grinned. Harley stopped rubbing her temples and looked at me, eyes narrowed.

"You never asked." she resumed her previous action.

"Maybe I should have, then you could have made me breakfast every morning." I teased. She scuffed at my response. "So who taught you how to cook?" I asked.

"My aunt. My fathers sister." she added the last part, stopping her motions and leaning her head back against the head rest.

"She must be a great cook."

"She is; she has her own business."

"You should take me there some time, introduce me to the family and all. We might as well get it over with." I nudged her shoulder with a smile which was returned in kind with a smile of her own.

"Please, as if I'd even introduce the likes of you to my family. Besides, she lives in Miami."

"I could use a vacation."

"No." Harley replied firmly. "She would just love me showing up with you at her door step." she said with a sarcastic undertone. "God knows she would." she added with a sigh.

"She isn't one of those pushy Aunts that's obsessed with marriage or anything is she?"

"No . . .she just wants to see me happy." she replied. There was a long pause before I spoke; I felt uncomfortable with the question I was about to ask her-my hand gripped the steering wheel tighter. I didn't want to unconsciously offend her or anything, if there was one thing I knew about Harley it was that her pride was her backbone. I put my signal on and got into the right lane so I could turn at the next light.

"Are you happy?" I blurted out before I could second guess myself any longer. Harley didn't say anything at first, she just look through the windshield, and after a brief few seconds her eyes wandered down in thought until they met mine, awaiting her answer.

"I might be." the corners of her lips drew up in an almost unsighted smile the faded when she looked back through the windshield an instant later.

* * *

><p>HPOV:<p>

Eric pulled up in front of the independent office of Keith Minster, my new enemy. He would be the deciding factor on whether I won or lost the case; convincing him to have Victor speak to the police willingly would be my biggest challenge. I grabbed my briefcase and got out of the car.

"Thanks for the ride." I smiled at Eric.

"Do you want me to hang around? In case you get jumped by this dude? Or if he gets a little touchy?" his voice was playful; however, his expression was serious.

"I think I can take him; thanks again." I shut the door and watched as Eric hesitantly drove off. I went to the door and before I could even knock it opened abruptly; appearing before me was a middle aged man with curly messy hair framing his face that accented his amazing emerald green eyes. If it weren't for the suite he was wearing I probably would have taken him for a skater kid, but his deep masculine voice (not to mention his slim but built figure) told me other wise.

"Harley Jacobs?" he asked, an eyebrow raised at me.

"Keith Minster?" I asked back. His head dropped in a bow like gesture and stepped away from the door, allowing me to enter. Keith's home wasn't at all like what I would expect, he was strapping and civilized; however, his house had a cottage feel to it; very peculiar. I took a moment to look around before turning around, seeing him close the door.

"I know what you're here for." he said, walking into a large study assuming that I would follow him, and I did so . . .leisurely.

"Then this should be easy for you." I replied. Keith sat down behind a large cherry oak desk and folded his hands in his lap; I sat down on one of the plush Indonesian chairs in front of him. "Victor is withholding vital information that is hindering the local police from doing there job. They need his statement."

"You need his statement." Keith corrected.

"I need his statement. They need his statement; what difference does it make? The point is that the information Victor isn't telling any one can be the difference of him spending life in prison, or getting the death penalty."

Keith laughed lightly, whipping the saliva from the corners of his mouth and perched his elbows on the edge of the table, folded his hands together, and rested his chin on him.

"That isn't much of a threat."

"It wasn't supposed to me; it's the truth."

"Have to received Antonios statement?"

"I did, earlier this morning. So you could imagine my surprise when I arrived at the police station for a follow up and they told me they hadn't had the opportunity for a proper questioning of your client."

"I don't care about the police." Keith stood up and walked around the side of his desk, sitting on the edge just a few feet away from me. "My client hired me to convince the jury that he is innocent, I don't need the police poking and probing at Victor to prove otherwise."

"Obstruction is against the law Mr. Minster." I replied.

"I never said I was doing that, but it is a fact. Allowing Victor to be questioned by the authorities without getting his story right would be sending a lamb to the slaughterhouse." he grinned.

A mitigated primal growl that rumbled from my stomach made my upper lip quiver and aggravation. "Don't pretend to be all high and mighty; the money's all you care about. If Victor goes to prison doesn't matter, either way you get paid."

"Don't pretend as if your better than me because you care about your clients." Keith hissed back with the same quivering lip that I had just displayed.

I stood up and smoothed out my skirt and grabbed my briefcase. "If you don't want me to report you to the judge and the FED's you will get Victor into that interrogation room tomorrow so he can give his statement." were my final words as I left the home and office of Keith Minster. The thing that disturbed me most wasn't the fact that he cared more about money than his clients lives, but that (in all honesty) I would have been interested in him if he wasn't such a bastard.

I stood on the curb outside his house, flagging down a taxi and just as I placed one foot inside the backseat, a large flash from across the street blinded me, causing me to step back and hold onto the door for stability. Small circles of multiple colors appeared every time I blinked and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust again. I looked across the street but there was nothing, only a deli shop, a laundry mat, and in between both stood a large fence leading to the community garden. I shook off the strange feeling I had and resumed getting into the taxi to go back to the office.

A/N: Hello everyone! i hope you like the chapter, i know it wasn't as "interesting"/"Juicy" as the past ones, but that's because all of it is in the next one! Yup, so again** i would like about 8 reviews** before i post the next one so i know what you guys think and if i should tweek things before i publish. Thank ya!


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